


The Value of Royal Blood (Light Version)

by Lindira



Series: Royal Blood [2]
Category: Dragon Age, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Abuse, Aftermath of Torture, Dark, Despair, Hurt/Comfort, Imprisonment, Kink Meme, Milking, Multi, Non Consensual, Psychological Torture, Rape Aftermath, Sexual Content, Starvation, Torture
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-12-24
Updated: 2013-10-28
Packaged: 2017-11-22 05:30:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 22
Words: 46,429
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/606329
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lindira/pseuds/Lindira
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One false step, and the Landsmeet was lost. Execution would have been a kindness, compared to what Anora has planned for Alistair. (Light Version - moves from dark to bittersweet)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> _**WARNING:** This is a Darkfic. This story contains imprisonment, torture/violence, rape/non-con, despair, and psychological abuse. If you have a problem reading about any of these subjects and/or if these are triggering for you, for your own sake, please do not read ahead._
> 
>  
> 
> Notes: Most of this story was written as catharsis for me whenever I was having a bad day/week/whatever over the past couple years. And it shows. Though I've dealt with dark subject matter before, this is far beyond what you'd find in my usual work. When I found a kmeme prompt asking for a really dark Alistair fic, this fit so well, I decided to post it. Original prompt can be found here: http://dragonage-kink.livejournal.com/8033.html?thread=38180705#t38180705. Also, please know that I am not hating on any character in particular, despite what happens in this story. I just find it fascinating to write and read about what beloved characters do in times of suffering.
> 
> I am writing two versions of this - one Dark (at the prompt OP's request), one Light (my original intent for the story). This is the Light Version. If you're looking for the Dark Version, it can be found here: http://archiveofourown.org/works/596181/chapters/1074251. If you've already read the Dark Version, you can skip ahead to Chapter 12 of this story; Chapters 1-11 are identical.

The last time he saw her – the last time he might ever see her – her face was frozen in an expression of terror and panic. The Dalish elf was small, but impossibly strong, and it took several burly guards to hold her back. His strong, beautiful elf, with her chestnut hair that glimmered with gold in the sunlight. His serious, wise elf with the silly name. Tangerine.

There was no one else to blame for their failure but himself. He was the one who insisted on fighting in the duel against Loghain. He was the one who let his anger blind him during the battle. And, finally, he was the one who tripped on a fold in the carpet, ensuring his defeat. Tangi had thrown herself before him, catching the final blow with her shoulder. The blow meant to take off his head. Thank the Maker she was wearing platemail, or she might have lost her arm.

In the end, it was all for nothing. Anora resumed her role as queen and ordered for his execution. Tangi shrieked, her good arm flying to her greatsword, even though she had little hope of hefting it one-handed. Guards swarmed them, disarming them and their companions. And then, that look. The look on Tangi’s face that would haunt him for the rest of his days. However many days that would be.

“No!” she cried out, lashing out at the guards surrounding her, blood still trickling from her shoulder down her arm. “You can’t do this! Alistair!”

“I love you!” he called out to her as the guards pulled him away. “Don’t ever forget that!”

Tears streamed down her face as she nodded. It occurred to him that he had never seen her cry before. The sight was strange, yet beautiful.

Just outside the hall of the Landsmeet, a gauntleted fist connected with the back of his head, plunging him into darkness.


	2. Chapter 2

Alistair awoke with a stabbing headache. He was slumped against a cold, filthy stone wall, and he felt manacles and chains binding his wrists and ankles. Dressed only in his smallclothes, the chill of the air and stone seeped easily into his bones, and he shivered violently. Wherever he was, it was dimly lit, and it took some time for his eyes to adjust to the relative darkness. Stone walls and iron bars surrounded him on all sides. A small, tattered blanket and a bucket with which to relieve himself were the only other things in his cell. Once his teeth started chattering loudly, he gathered the dirty scrap of cloth awkwardly around himself, trying not to think about what vermin might be infesting it, but it did little to keep out the cold.

For hours, he waited for someone to come, to take him off to a chopping block to be executed. He tested his manacles and chains, looking for weak spots in the metal, but they were thick and well-forged. He wriggled his wrists, trying to slip out of the metal, but it only resulted in broken, raw skin. He pulled and pushed on all the bars of his cell, and felt around the stones on the floor and walls in hopes something might come loose. All to no avail. And though he had no way of keeping time, the hours wore on into what must have been well over a day at least, until Alistair began to wonder if they weren’t going to bother with a proper execution at all, and merely starve him to death instead. No one came past his cell, and the only sounds that broke the oppressive silence were the far-off screams of tortured prisoners.

After what must have been two or three days in that cell, he woke to footsteps coming down the hall. Alistair got to his feet shakily, the days of cold, hunger, and dehydration leaving him weaker than he could ever remember being in his life. He leaned against the wall, struggling with the effort to remain upright.

The cell door swung open slowly, and two people strode in – one guard and a blond woman. Anora.

Alistair tried to lunge at her, but he only managed to stumble forward and land on his knees. “You…” he croaked in a voice barely above a whisper, his parched throat feeling like it was full of sand.

Anora gave a short nod to the guard, who filled a mug with water from a bucket he carried with him. The guard held the mug out to him. Alistair snatched it and greedily gulped down its contents. He held out the mug for more, but the guard only took it from him.

Alistair glared up at the queen with burning hatred. “Why am I still here?” he asked through clenched teeth, his voice still hoarse, his throat still unbearably dry.

“I never really had any intention of killing you, Alistair,” Anora answered mildly. “A childish ruse, perhaps, but a necessary one all the same.”

He frowned in confusion. “Why?”

“I would think that to be obvious.” Anora gave a mirthless smile. “You are a Grey Warden, and as much as I want you out of the way, I also do not wish to jeopardize Ferelden’s safety during a Blight.”

“Fat lot of good I’ll do to protect against the Blight, wasting away in a cell.”

She shrugged. “Perhaps. Still, you may be of some use in that regard, and I will not throw away a potential resource.”

“Potential resource?” Alistair repeated in disgust. “I am not some tool to be used as you see fit.”

“That’s all you ever were to me, Alistair,” she said, shaking her head. She paused, as if appraising him. “I intend to make use of your royal blood as well.”

“What do you mean?” he asked suspiciously, wisps of fear settling in his spine.

“I do not wish to take on another husband, but an heir will be necessary for the future of the country. An heir with Theirin blood will ensure that my place on the throne is not challenged again.”

“That’s insane!” Alistair exclaimed, feeling physically sick at what she was suggesting. “You want me to have sex with you?”

“That is typically how one creates an heir, yes.”

He shuddered. “That’s never going to happen.”

Anora shrugged again. “You say that now. But given enough time, you might even begin to see me as desirable.” She smirked. “Even the strongest wills can be broken, Alistair, and yours was never very strong to begin with.”

Alistair shook his head, unable to believe what he was hearing. “But if everybody thinks I’m dead, they’ll never believe that your child has royal blood. It won’t work.”

“That’s another reason to keep you alive, I suppose. I’ll simply clean you up and show you to the nobles. If they question why you are still alive, I will say that I decided to spare you instead and kept you close by to watch for signs of treason. Which isn’t a lie, exactly.”

The wisps of fear in his spine had exploded into utter horror at the life she was suggesting for him. “You’re sick,” he spat at her. Or he would have, if he still had any spit.

“It’s either this or execution,” she said blandly, as if talking about the weather. “You do not wish to live?”

“No, not like this. I’d rather die than live like this.”

“Unfortunately, it isn’t up to you.” She turned back towards the door. “In the meantime, I’ll leave you to the whims of my guards. They do get quite bored while they’re on duty, and need some diversion to pass the time.”

They shut the door behind them, leaving behind the water bucket and a lump of bread. As soon as Alistair could no longer hear their footsteps in the hall, he lunged at the food and water, tearing into the bread hungrily, washing it down with gulps of water. He felt pitiful and pathetic, and the knowledge that this was only the start of the degradation he’d have to face filled him with despair. He tried desperately to push it away, to hold on to some hope of escape. But though he wracked his brain to come up with an idea of how to escape, he could think of nothing that would work. He had no strength, and all his friends thought he was already dead. No one would come to save him.


	3. Chapter 3

The next day, guards roused him from his sleep, grabbing him by his shackles and dragging him from the cell. Alistair yelled, kicking as best he could with the heavy chains around his ankles. None of his kicks hit the guards; instead they laughed at his futile struggles and hauled his torso up onto a blood-stained table. They locked the shackles on his wrists to either end of the narrow table so that he was splayed across the flat surface with his chest against the jagged wood. They cut away his smallclothes, which fell lightly against his chained ankles. One of them kicked his legs apart, clasping the ends of a metal bar between the fetters as Alistair continued to yell, fearing what he knew was coming next.

"Might wanna stop thrashing," a guard growled in his ear, "unless you wanna tear yourself up."

"Get away from me, you bastards!" Alistair cried, the words feeling ineffectual for the amount of hatred and fear that clutched at his chest and throat.

"Warned ya," the guard said dismissively. Alistair heard the sounds of armor and clothing stripping away, and then the sound of something wet and slick on flesh. Moments later, he felt slippery and warm fingers rubbing against his ass, prodding at the puckered opening, and he struggled again, yelling curses to drown out his terror.

There was no further warning or preparation. A light pressure against him turned into searing pain as the guard grunted, thrusting into him. Alistair screamed in pain as he felt flesh breaking, pulling itself apart around the large and sudden intrusion. He willed himself not to beg, not to give them the satisfaction of pleading them to stop, though the words hung at the tip of his tongue. Instead, he continued to scream angrily, wordlessly, so he would not have to hear the slap of his skin against the guard's as the other man pounded into him.

Minutes passed, but somehow it seemed like the pounding lasted a lifetime. The guard finally groaned with a furious pumping of his hips as he spilled his seed into Alistair. Alistair felt the man back away, and he felt a momentary surge of relief. But then he felt the presence of another man behind him, taking the place of the first.

"I'll bet you have a nice, tight ass," the new guard hissed.

Alistair gritted his teeth as the other man plunged into his entrance. He cried out again, the pain nearly as severe as when the first man took him. Humiliation and despair threatened to overwhelm his anger, and Alistair desperately tried to fight those emotions, clinging to the rage that kept him sane. He continued to yell and thrash as best he could, working himself into a frenzy so he wouldn't have to feel what the man was doing to him. Soon, it was over again, and Alistair slumped on the table, exhausted.

But it didn't end. One guard after another came behind him, adding their seed to the collection forming deep within him. Sticky semen began dribbling down Alistair's thighs. He could no longer thrash or shout. His voice was hoarse from screaming, his body weak from hunger and his efforts earlier. He'd lost count of the men who took him, or whether they were even different men, rather than the same few men over and over. Eventually, he just slumped against the table, lacking the energy to do anything but listen to the men laugh and grunt as they pummeled into him with their hips.

Alistair wasn't sure how long it had been – hours perhaps – by the time they pulled him off of the table and dragged him back to his cell. They threw him in unceremoniously and shut the door, laughing and calling him a "nice, little whore" as they walked away. Alistair pulled the dirty blanket to him and curled around himself on the floor, trying to hide away his nakedness and shame. He lay there, unmoving, staring out at the darkness until a fitful sleep finally claimed him.

o.O.o

The next day passed with nothing to distract him from his feelings of humiliation and degradation, except for a plate of stale bread and dried meat sliding under a slot in the door. Alistair ate it ravenously, though it did little to quell the Grey Warden hunger pulling incessantly at his stomach. He drank water from the bucket carefully, his throat still raw from all the yelling he had done the day before. He spent the time curled up in the blanket, trying to occupy his mind with the various ways he would kill Anora and her guards, if only he were given the strength and opportunity.

The day after, he was dragged once more from his sleep, pulled to the same bloody table as before. Alistair found he still had little strength to struggle, but he kicked and yelled as best he could, to prove to them – and, perhaps, to himself – that his will would not be easily broken. He expected to feel the men take him by the ass again, but instead he felt something crack sharply and suddenly against his back. He cried out in pain and surprise, and was still unprepared for the second strike that came.

"Why are you doing this?" he shouted. "I've done nothing wrong!"

Wicked laughter rippled from the men around him, but none of them spoke up to answer him. The guard behind him snapped the whip again, producing a hot welt Alistair felt along the sensitive flesh of his ass.

Alistair gritted his teeth and steeled himself for the next blow, and the next. He tried not to make any further sounds, afraid he might scream and beg, but he could not stop the groans that escaped past his teeth. His brain fumbled for templar meditation exercises, hoping the clarity would allow him to leave the agony of his body behind. It worked for a time. Yet with each successive lash of the whip, he felt his control slipping until the pain rushed over him again. Something warm and sticky trickled down his legs, and he knew it wasn't semen this time, but rather, his own blood. Eventually, his vision tunneled, and he allowed himself to be pulled into the darkness.

When he awoke, he let out a choked whimper at the stabbing, overwhelming pain that ran the length of his back down to his upper thighs. The cold air helped to ease the burning sensation that plagued his wounds, but did little else to make him feel better. Despair began to fill him once again, and he struggled to keep it at bay. His thoughts turned to his beautiful elf, somewhere out there fighting against the Blight. It felt as if he hadn't seen her in a very long time, when it had been less than a week since he saw her last. Her terrified, panicked face came to his mind, and though thinking of her in that frozen expression made his heart ache, it gave him a faint glimmer of hope as well.

"Tangi," he murmured, willing her to hear him somehow. "I'm alive. Please come for me."

He repeated the last two sentences over and over, as if he were praying the Chant of Light. To him, it was indeed a prayer, giving voice to his belief that if he wished for it hard enough, she would find him and bring an end to his suffering.


	4. Chapter 4

The next few weeks continued in this pattern. Some days, the guards raped him. Others, they tortured him. More often, they left him alone in his cell, with little but the clatter of the tin plate shoved under the door to distract him. A guard would come by every now and again to empty his waste bucket or refill his water. And though Alistair considered attacking the guard while the cell door was open, the pain from his injuries and lack of strength made it a struggle to even stand most days, and the door would shut before he could even reach the guard.

Alistair continued to struggle when they took him out of the cell, but the spirit he put into his efforts waned, as they only succeeded in robbing him of his few ounces of strength. He wondered if his will was breaking, if exhaustion meant submission. So he kept struggling as much as he could, to convince himself that he still had the will to fight, even if he lacked the energy.

Each session at the bloodied table was different. Sometimes they dragged sharp daggers lightly across his skin or dripped hot wax slowly onto his flesh. Other times, they hooked him to a rack, pulling his limbs to their limits until he was sure his arms and legs would rip from his body. When the guards found they had gone too far, a healer – a downcast-looking elf with dark circles under his eyes – would come to undo the damage they had done to him, even taking away some of the welts and scabs from previous torture sessions. Alistair almost wished the guards would overdo it more often, as the days when the healer came were the only ones where he would return to his cell without any pain.

Alistair had lost count of the days, but it had surely been a few weeks after that fateful Landsmeet when he felt something familiar and foreboding pulling at his spine when he awoke. At first, it was difficult to place the feeling; it had been a long time since he'd had any sensation other than pain, cold, or hunger. When he realized what it was, his eyes widened and he threw himself at the metal bars of his cell.

"Hey!" he called desperately. "Somebody! There are darkspawn nearby!"

There was no answer, but it seemed there were more shouts and screaming than usual.

The feeling of the taint was overwhelming. It seemed the darkspawn must be everywhere – thousands of them swarming around Fort Drakon. Around the city itself, perhaps. And if Alistair closed his eyes, he could hear something. Something that had always been in the back of his mind, but now brought strongly to the fore. The song of the archdemon.

"No…" he murmured, then railed at the bars again. "Somebody! Let me out! The darkspawn… the archdemon! Please, I'm a Grey Warden!"

He knew he would never be able to lift a sword in his condition, much less defend himself against a single hurlock. But the prospect of going into battle once more, of an opportunity to die with honor fighting against the Blight… It was better than wasting away in this cell, tortured and defiled, waiting for a rescue that may never come.

Rescue… Tangi! If the darkspawn were here, she would be too, he was sure of it. Knowing it was almost too much to hope for, still he prayed that one of his friends would somehow be nearby and hear him. "Help! Let me out! My name is Alistair! I'm a Grey Warden! Please, someone help me!"

He alternated between yelling at the top of his lungs and sipping at water to ease his throat. He continued this way for hours, pleading into the air that someone hear his cries. Loud, armored footsteps sometimes sounded beyond the doors to the hallway, and Alistair yelled louder, but whoever those soldiers were, they were gone almost as quickly as they came.

Suddenly, the whole prison shook with the force of a powerful blast. Alistair tumbled backwards, landing painfully on his backside. He listened, wondering what could have caused such a blast, and he heard shouts of surprise echoing faintly through the stone corridors. After a moment, Alistair closed his eyes, listening again. The archdemon's song was gone.

"She did it…" he said in a soft voice, bittersweet tears coming to his eyes. "She actually did it." He gave a small, sad smile and sighed, leaning up against the stone wall. "I guess she didn't really need me after all." The tears fell from his eyes.

o.O.o

It took two days for the guards to come back, and it had been three days since he had last been fed. He had thankfully had the foresight to tuck away bits of previous meals in a dark corner of his cell for such an occasion. But when the tin of food came, he still devoured the bread and meat within scant seconds of receiving it. The guard watched him eat for a moment before turning away.

"Wait," Alistair called around his last mouthful of food.

The guard paused. "What do you want?"

"I just… I wanted to know what happened a few days ago. The Blight's over, isn't it?"

"Yeah, your Grey Warden buddies killed the archdemon. Up on this fort's tower, in fact."

Alistair blinked. "Tangi was here? In Fort Drakon?"

The guard barked a laugh. "The elf leading the charge? Yeah, she was here. She might've seen ya too, if the darkspawn woulda come through here. But you're too far down, and they were heading up." He smirked. "Too bad for you, huh?" With that, he walked away.

Alistair's heart sank with disappointment. "Yeah," he muttered. "Too bad for me."

o.O.o

The days continued as they had before, and once again, Alistair lost track of time. It seemed as if he were living the same three or four days over and over, the only real indication of time passing was the growing of his beard and hair, now hanging in dirty clumps about his head.

There came a day when they brought him to the familiar table. For once, he didn't struggle in the least, but merely dragged his feet as he shuffled along between the guards. They locked his manacles to the table as usual, and kicked his feet apart. They had taken their pleasure from him so often by then that there was usually only a momentary discomfort at the first man's entrance. Alistair waited, listening to the first guard prepare himself with oil.

Something was different when the guard pushed deeply into him. Alistair's eyes widened, and he gasped at something that was decidedly not pain. The other man began a slow rhythm, each thrust brushing up against a spot deep within him that sent shivers up through his spine. Alistair bit back a moan, and to his horror, his body began responding to the waves of pleasure rocking through him.

One of the other men noticed. "Hey, look," he said, laughing and pointing at Alistair's growing erection. "He likes it when he ain't flailin' about."

"You like that, you dirty whore?" the guard pumping into Alistair breathed in his ear. He punctuated the sentence with a few hard thrusts.

Alistair just barely kept another moan from escaping his lips, but he was finding it increasingly difficult to keep silent. Pleasure. It had been so long since he'd felt it. He had tried on several occasions in his cell, alone with his thoughts of Tangi, but the biting cold kept him from maintaining an erection for more than a few minutes. Here, in the torture chamber filled with the warmth of flaming torches and moving bodies, his erection sprang forth with renewed vigor, until Alistair's hands itched for want of relieving the pressure.

The guard's pace grew faster now, harder. Gasps and groans came from Alistair unbidden. It just felt too _good_ to try to suppress any of it. He hated himself for wanting it, even as he had to keep himself from begging for more. Soon – too soon – the other man spent himself and immediately withdrew, leaving Alistair feeling empty and wanting.

Another man stepped up behind him. "You want more, dirty whore?"

Alistair trembled, refusing to speak.

"We can always leave. There are plenty of other prisoners." The guard gripped a handful of Alistair's hair and pulled his head back. "Do you want more?"

After a moment's hesitation, he nodded his head, too ashamed to give words to his desire.

The guard released him, giving a grin that Alistair couldn't see, but could hear in his voice. "There's a good girl."

The other man thrust into him hard, and Alistair gasped at the renewed sensation. He groaned with every slap of their hips against each other. It wasn't long before Alistair spilled his seed onto the stone floor, but it was short and unsatisfying as his cock went untouched. The guard did not cease pumping into him, and Alistair's erection returned within minutes, willing and waiting for something to touch it.

But nothing did. No one did. As soon as the second guard spent himself, another took his place. Bolts of pleasure coursed through Alistair as one guard after another took their turns, his voice ragged from shamelessly begging for more. His cock was impossibly hard with want, the tip weeping with viscous fluid, and Alistair thought he might go mad with need for release.

The men, having had their fill, turned towards the door, laughing.

"Wait, no!" Alistair cried. "Where are you going?"

"It's suppertime," one said simply, looking back at him with malicious glee. "We took too long with you."

"Don't worry," another said. "We'll be back for you in a couple hours."

"No, please!" Alistair called after them. "Just release my hands! Please!"

They closed the door behind them, their laughter echoing in the corridor, leaving him slumped over the table, helpless and aching with need.

Bitter tears fell down his face, cutting rivulets through the dirt. He had to be broken now, he was sure of it. He had no thoughts of revenge, no will to fight. All he wanted in that moment was for one of them to come back and unlock his wrists so he could bring himself relief. And he hated himself for it.


	5. Chapter 5

More days and weeks passed. The days when the guards raped him, sometimes they would leave him in the torture chamber like before, while other times they dumped him back in his cell. As soon as he was back in his cell, he immediately pumped into his hand in desperation, filled with despair and self-loathing, but unwilling to wait for the cold to start having its effect on his erection. Sometimes he would think of Tangi, but thoughts of her started filling him with shame. His wanting to be pleasured by these men was now somehow a betrayal against her. He felt like he was cheating on her, though she thought he was dead. Though he had little hope of ever seeing her again. He wondered – was it still rape if he wanted it? He wanted it even while he didn't want it. Though it humiliated him and filled him with self-hatred, it was the one thing that made him feel good.

A day came when two guards arrived with the elven mage in tow. "Get up," one of the guards ordered. When Alistair obeyed, they unlocked the door and pulled on his chains like a leash. "Let's go."

"Where?" Alistair asked. He looked at the mage curiously, but the mage would not meet his eyes.

"Don't ask questions," the guard grunted, and they continued on in silence.

They brought him down several corridors and up two flights of stairs, which Alistair had difficulty climbing due to his shackled feet. Mild fancies of hope crept into his mind. Did someone find out he was alive? Had someone arranged for his freedom? He tried to shove these thoughts aside. It was almost impossible that someone found out about him, and if he allowed himself to believe in these fancies, the disappointment would surely devastate him. No, better to be pleasantly surprised than face crushing disappointment again.

And pleasantly surprised he was when they reached their destination, though it was nothing he would have expected. They stopped at a room with a large tub of steaming water. Two elven men stood nearby, waiting with sponges and soap.

The guards pushed him forward and the elves took him to a small stool in the middle of the stone floor. They dumped a bucket of warm water over his head, and Alistair gasped at the sudden heat against his perpetually cold skin. They lathered soap into his skin and hair, scrubbing with cloths and sponges. He felt himself blush for the first time in a long while as they stood him up so they could scrub at his genitals and backside, then down his legs and feet. They carefully soaped underneath his manacles at his wrists and ankles, taking care to go all the way around the now callused skin. They sat him down again and poured another bucket of water over his head. Alistair watched in grim fascination as the water, dark gray with dirt, flowed down the drains in the floor. One of them took out a pair of shears and cut away his matted hair until it was nearly as short as it was before he was incarcerated. They trimmed his beard before shaving his face clean. Alistair's hands went up to his face, wondering at the feel of his newly revealed skin. Finally, they stood him up again, and brought him to the bath.

As he couldn't lift one leg into the tub without the other, the elves sat him down at the edge then swiveled him around until his feet rested in the hot water. Alistair gasped again as they lowered him into the water, the heat shooting immediately into his bones. They allowed him to soak for a time, and he began to grow sleepy from the relaxing of his aching muscles. He couldn't remember the last time he had felt so contented. But eventually the elves were fussing over him again, drawing him back up to scrub at him once more with soap and sponges, chasing away the last of the filth that clung to his body.

Alistair looked at his skin in amazement. It was white, almost pearly in its paleness, no longer darkened with dirt and blood and dried semen. He remembered that he used to be tan, and he wondered again at how long he had been imprisoned. It felt incredible to finally be clean after what had surely been months of wallowing in filth.

The elves rinsed him off a final time before helping him back out of the bath. Alistair reluctantly left the warm water, and, as soon as he was standing on the stone floor again, they dried him off with soft towels before sending him back to the guards.

Alistair turned to the elves as the guards pushed him toward their next destination. "Thank you," he whispered to them, his eyes shining with gratitude. Despite his nakedness, he felt like he had some dignity for the first time in a long while.

The elves exchanged looks of surprise, but gave sad smiles to him as they nodded their acceptance of his thanks.

The guards brought him down several other corridors and up another flight of stairs until they reached a private hallway with only two doors. One of the doors was open, and Alistair looked in as he shuffled past. It was a lush room with a four-poster bed and velvet curtains drawn over a wall of large windows. There were sitting chairs around a large fireplace and a writing desk tucked in the corner. Alistair was puzzled by how out of place such a room seemed in a prison where people were regularly tortured. But he wasn't given much time to consider the room as they reached the other door at the end of the hall.

The guards stopped him and turned to the mage. "Look him over. She wants to make sure he doesn't have any unsightly cuts or welts."

The mage nodded, and Alistair felt a wave of healing magic pass over him. Then the mage looked back up at the guards and nodded again, indicating he was done.

The guards unlocked the door. "In you go, princess," the lead guard said with a smirk, and shoved Alistair through the doorway.

Alistair fell to his knees. He shut his eyes almost immediately, the room brighter than any he had been in since his imprisonment. He blinked and squinted as he allowed his eyes to adjust. What could be so bright? He edged forward, and he felt the light hit him on his arm, warming his skin at its touch. He allowed his eyes to open wider, and his vision focused.

Sunlight. Alistair scrambled to his feet and stumbled to the tiny window at the other end of the room. The window was little more than a narrow opening in the stone wall. There were no panes of glass fitted inside, but bars criss-crossed the outside of it. Even without the bars, there was no way he would be able to fit through the opening, despite the considerable weight he had lost in recent months. He closed his eyes and pressed his face to the window, basking in the warmth of the sun and taking large gulps of the fresh air coming through. The air smelled so much sweeter beyond the walls of the prison, untainted by blood and sweat and waste.

Alistair opened his eyes and looked out past the bars to the city below. Though he was technically only two stories up, those two stories were quite high, due to Fort Drakon's high ceilings. He watched in fascination as the people went about their business in the city streets. It seemed strange that life continued on beyond the prison walls, with people going about their daily routines. He stuck an arm out the window past the bars, as if he could touch the freedom that taunted him. Filling once more with the familiar emptiness of despair, he pushed his face as far as it would go into the window and shouted. "Someone help me!" he cried. "I don't belong here! I'm being held against my will! Please, someone!"

He tentatively looked out at the streets below and was unsurprised – yet, nevertheless, still disappointed – that no one even paused to look up. And he realized. There were other shouts – faint murmurings in the distance that he had long since tuned out, of other prisoners crying their pleas for help and mercy. The people who lived and worked nearby were probably used to hearing prisoners calling out from Fort Drakon and, like him, had learned to ignore them.

Alistair turned away from the window, finding the sunlight and fresh air and tantalizing freedom beyond to be suddenly depressing. He looked around the tiny room. Though the room was small, it was at least twice as large as his cell. It had likely been a storage room at one point, as empty shelves were embedded in one wall. There was a cot against the opposite wall, with a clean woolen blanket. He took the blanket into his hands, marveling at it softness, its utter lack of smell that was comforting after his own blanket that had reeked with…

He pushed the thought from his mind and continued his perusal of the room. There was a proper chamberpot and a metal basin of water, bolted to one of the shelves, with a tin cup next to it. And in the corner was a round wicker basket.

Alistair rubbed his eyes, convinced he was seeing things. He shuffled hesitantly to the basket and got to his knees before it. Food! And not just stale bread and tough bits of dried beef. Fresh bread and smoked meat. Ripe fruit and… "Cheese…" he whispered reverently.

He paused, wondering for a brief moment whether to hide it away, to save it somehow. But months of hunger and the fear it might all be taken away made him act. He tore into the cheese, but forced himself to chew slowly so he could taste it, savor it. He couldn't remember cheese ever tasting this _good_ , but the salty, smoky flavor was better than he could have imagined. Though he tried to pace himself, it was gone too soon and he started in on the fruit. He took large bites of apples and devoured whole handfuls of grapes at a time, reveling in the juices trickling past his shackles down his arms. He licked the juices away as best he could, not wanting to waste a drop of sweetness. The Grey Warden hunger within him practically bellowed with renewed ferocity, and Alistair took the small loaf of crusty bread in one hand and a large chunk of meat in the other. He alternated between chomping down on one and ripping mouthfuls off of the other, glorying in the mix of flavors dancing about his tongue. His stomach began to hurt from being so suddenly filled, but he didn't care. It was too good to stop, too long since he'd had his fill of anything.

When it was all gone, he coughed and shakily grabbed a cupful of water. Even the water tasted better, clear and crisp. Suddenly sleepy, he shuffled to the cot and wrapped himself in the wool blanket. The cot felt amazing… Had beds even been this soft? He couldn't remember. Warm, full, clean, and comfortable for the first time in months, Alistair quickly fell into an easy sleep under the soft, warm rays of the setting sun.


	6. Chapter 6

When he awoke, he was at first confused, forgetting where he was. He was so contented, he thought for one glorious moment that perhaps it had all been a very long, very vivid nightmare. But then the weight of the shackles at his wrists and ankles brought sinking reality past the fog of sleep and Alistair sighed. He sat up, keeping the blanket wrapped around him.

It was early morning. Past the window the sky was a faint slate blue with hints of light just starting to become visible. The morning chill made him shiver a bit, but it was nowhere near as cold as it had been in his cell. His stomach ached from his bingeing the night before, but he had thankfully kept it all down. After getting up to relieve himself in the chamberpot, he stood by the window and watched the city begin to wake.

A hatch at the bottom of the door swung open then, and another small basket of food slid in. Alistair blinked at it for a moment, unaccustomed now to the idea of eating more than once a day. He snatched up the basket quickly, afraid it was a mistake, afraid the guard would come in at any second to take it away. Despite the tenderness of his stomach, he wolfed down the bread and meat and fruit, barely taking the time to chew between swallows. When he was finished, he sat back and leaned against the empty shelves to catch his breath. His stomach hurt sharply now, and though the pain nearly doubled him over, he did not regret it in the least. He stood carefully and began pacing the room to settle his stomach, shuffling from the door to the window and back again with the blanket drawn tightly around him.

A few hours later, a key rattled in the lock of the door. A guard looked in. "Out," he said brusquely. "Don't make me go in there and get you."

Alistair set the blanket on the cot and went to the door. There were two guards in the hallway, the one who summoned him, and one waiting just down the hall. The guard beside him shut the door behind him and pulled him along. They entered the other door, into the room that he had seen the day before when they had first walked in.

"Lie down on the bed, face up," the guard instructed.

Alistair stared at the bed for a moment. It was beautiful and plush and bigger than his cell. He sat hesitantly on the bed and it immediately sank a bit under his weight. Oh, yes. Beds were much softer than cots. He swung his feet up and lay back.

One guard shoved him to the middle of the bed, then went to his wrists. He unlocked the chains between them and pulled Alistair's arms over his head. The guard handed one of the arms to the other guard waiting on the opposite side of the bed, and they each chained his wrists to the posts on either side. They then repeated the process with his feet, until Alistair was splayed across the bed with his limbs in an X formation.

"Have fun, princess," the guard said over his shoulder as he left the room.

Several minutes passed as Alistair waited, not sure what to make of this new situation. He wasn't left to wonder long, as the door was unlocked and someone entered.

Anora. It had been a long time since he had seen her, but his hatred boiled to the surface anew. He seethed silently as she locked the door behind her and turned to look at him.

"Hello, Alistair," Anora said in her prim and controlled voice. "It has been a while, hasn't it?"

"Don't pretend you're here for a friendly chat," Alistair growled through clenched teeth. "What do you want?"

"Have you forgotten?" she replied, looking honestly surprised. "I want what I've always wanted from you."

Alistair paled and realized she was wearing a robe, and what looked to be little else.

She smiled at his expression, her face mirthless despite the curling of her lips. "Come now. Four months alone in that little cell? Surely even you must want this by now."

He tried to ignore her implication. Tried more to ignore the ever so slight warming of his body that had made her implication true. Instead, he latched onto something else she said that genuinely surprised him. "Has it really been four months?" he asked. It had seemed so much longer than that, and yet, so much shorter.

Anora shrugged again and turned from him, facing a mirror by the door. "Indeed. Ferelden has been rebuilding after the Blight, and Denerim was especially hard hit. I have been very busy. I apologize for the delay in our… arrangement."

Alistair scowled. "Arrangement?" he repeated. "Don't pretend I had a say in this, Anora. Don't pretend I haven't been repeatedly tortured for the last four months."

She sighed loudly. "Oh, I must speak to my guards about that," she simpered, watching herself in the mirror. "They really shouldn't be so rough with you, and they do get carried away sometimes."

"You bitch," Alistair spat. "As if they didn't do exactly what you wanted."

Her hands went to the belt at her waist, slowly pulling apart the delicate knot. "That's enough. I really haven't the time to chat. You know what I'm here for." She pulled the robe open and let it fall teasingly past her shoulders. "I don't wish to wait any longer." With that, the robe fell in a puddle around her feet, revealing her alabaster skin and smooth curves.

Alistair swallowed, his eyes wandering hungrily over her exposed flesh. "I… no… I don't want this," he stammered, his mouth suddenly dry.

Anora grinned. "Your body says otherwise."

Of course it did. It would. He wanted to close his eyes, to take a moment to will away the traitorous erection that sprang from his hips. Yet, at the same time, he was desperate to drink in every detail of her body – the rise and fall of her breasts, the rosy color of her nipples, the tautness of her stomach, the roundness of her hips, the dusting of curls between her long legs… He let out a shuddering breath. Maker help him, but it had been so long since he'd even laid eyes on a woman, much less seen one naked. Despite the hatred still burning within him, despite all the things the guards had done to him at her command, he wanted her. He wanted her so badly.

She walked slowly – agonizingly so – up to the bed, her hips swaying with each step. She crawled up on top of it, taking her time as she made her way up the length of him. She allowed her breasts to brush up against his erection as she passed, and Alistair hissed with the sensation. His breath was already ragged with desire. His skin tingled with raised gooseflesh, both with the disgust of having her touch him and the need to feel more.

Anora stopped, her hips hovering over his chest. "It… has been a long time for me as well," she said, not so much an admission, as an explanation. "I wish for you to pleasure me."

Without any further hesitation, she shifted, hooking her legs under his shoulders. Alistair stared, trembling as she lowered her sex to his face. He didn't want to please her. He didn't want to give her any satisfaction at all. But the smell of her arousal was heady and intoxicating, and his will to resist was already crumbling around him.

"And…" he began shakily, his mind scrambling to keep his wits about him and failing. "And if I don't?"

She stared down at him without a hint of emotion. "If you service me, you stay up here, in a comfortable room. If you don't, I will not ask again. I'll simply have you taken back to the dungeons. Until you do as I say the first time."

Anora did not have to say the words, but he knew what she implied. His choice was simple. Sex with her while fed and warm, or sex with several faceless guards while tortured and starving. He wanted to deny her, to shout his defiance at her. But in his moment of hesitation, he thought of the dark and the cold and the blood-stained table, the filth and the whippings and the feel of sweaty flesh slapping into his behind. And it turned out to be not much of a choice at all.

Alistair lifted his head slightly and pressed his tongue to her folds. She gasped, cupping his head and lifting it up to press his lips against her. She was tangy and sweet, and the flavor of her on his tongue shattered what little control he had left. Soon, he was lapping and sipping at her folds, nipping and sucking at the little bud hidden underneath. Anora groaned and whimpered above him, urging him on. She let go of his head and lowered her hips down to rest against his face. As he licked and sucked at her, she began grinding against him shamelessly. Finally, she quivered before arching her back and gasping for air, her hips bucking ever so slightly as she came.

Anora lowered herself to sit lightly on his chest, faint tremors still coursing through her body. Alistair was nearly panting now, half from being nearly smothered under her sex, and half from the almost painful need to be inside her. He bit his lip, forcing himself not to beg her to get up and impale herself on him already. Instead, he shifted uncomfortably under her weight in hopes she might get up on her own.

Anora finally looked up at him. "Thank you, Alistair. That was lovely." She then lifted herself off his chest and gazed at his erection. It was already thick and hard with want, the tip swollen and red, glistening with pre-cum. She smirked. "My, you're certainly ready for me."

Alistair didn't answer, not trusting himself. Half-crazed words tumbled through his head. _Please, oh please… Let me be inside you, please… Oh, for the love of Andraste, please…_

She shifted above him until her hips were right over his. "This is not an ideal position for conceiving," she told him, "but it will have to do for now until you can be trusted to behave yourself." As their eyes met, Alistair knew – beyond the continual begging going on in his mind – that she was prolonging this on purpose, to torture him. She hovered mere inches above his erection, and the smell of her still on his face was driving him mad. He tried lifting his hips to touch her, but fell just short of reaching her. "Perhaps we can figure out other ways to restrain you," she went on. "I will have to discuss this with the guards."

It was too much for him to take. "Get on with it already!" Alistair shouted in a growling voice.

Anora chuckled. "I like your enthusiasm." Then, without warning, she grabbed his cock and plunged him into her.

Alistair gasped at the sudden explosion of sensation, nearly spilling himself inside her right then. "Oh, _Maker_!" he cried, taking in large gulps of air as his mind scrambled for control. After the long, agonizing anticipation, he was determined to last more than a few measly seconds.

Oh, but she was so very hot. So very tight. Maker's Breath, he'd forgotten how _good_ it felt to be inside a woman. Anora moved slowly, but with each meeting of their hips, Alistair found it increasingly difficult to hold himself back. It was too good, and it had been too long. They had been coupled for only a few minutes when he felt his body tense and he shouted, his cock spurting his seed up into Anora. Relief, rather than pleasure, washed over Alistair at his release, as the thought of how desperately he had wanted Anora filled him with self-disgust.

Yet Anora showed no signs of stopping. Instead, she continued to ride him in long, slow movements, bringing his half-flaccid cock to full erection once more after several minutes. "No," Alistair protested. "I- I've already gone, Anora. Isn't that enough?"

She smoothed a loose strand of hair back behind her ear and raised an eyebrow at him. "Enough, Alistair? It's enough when I give the word, and no sooner."

Alistair struggled uselessly beneath her, but his resistance seemed only to urge her on, her body rising and falling faster. A soft moan escaped from his lips. Being inside her still felt incredible, and the extra friction his movement caused heightened the sensation of each pump of Anora's hips. He settled instead on lying still with his eyes closed, his mind scrambling for memories of Tangi to make him come faster, so the ordeal might be over sooner. Yet, even with his eyes tightly shut and his mind working frantically, all he could see was Tangi's face at the Landsmeet, panicked and terrified. As much as he despaired at the image, he clung to it desperately. It was an image of the woman he loved – the woman he still hoped to see again someday. Without it, all he had was the bitch of a queen, milking him for his royal seed.

How long they stayed like that, Alistair wasn't sure. Certainly too long, the Grey Warden stamina having kicked in at an inopportune time. He began thrusting back up into her, crying out in shame and pleasure. Finally, finally, he came again, his orgasm bursting forth from him in searing, blinding heat. Anora collapsed on top of him, covered in sweat and utterly spent.

His skin crawled at the feel of her weight pressing against him. "Get off," he grunted between panted breaths.

She didn't move, didn't answer.

"Get off of me!" he shouted, thrashing as best he could with the little energy he had left.

Anora glared at him in annoyance and dismounted from him, careful not to spill too much of the precious semen inside of her. She lay down on her back beside him on the bed with her legs pulled to her chest.

Alistair ignored this strange behavior of hers, wanting to purge any thoughts of her from his mind. He closed his eyes, pretending he was alone. After a few moments, he heard her get to her feet and get dressed.

"Guards, we are done here. Take him away."


	7. Chapter 7

The next several days were more of the same. Each morning, Alistair was roused from his sleep and chained to the bed. Anora would enter and disrobe, then proceed straight to him in a business-like manner with few words of banter exchanged between them. Usually, her hands would go straight to his flaccid member, stroking and massaging gently as Alistair tried desperately not to let his body respond to the wonderful sensations. It never took long, however, for him to reach a full erection, and she would lower herself onto him without delay and ride him. Most times, she would not dismount until after he had come within her twice, his too-eager cock so willing to action after a few minutes rest.

"Grey Warden stamina has not been exaggerated," Anora said in a pleased tone, panting a little from their exertions. It had been well over a week since Alistair was brought there from his dungeon cell, and – as always – Anora lay down beside him with her legs curled to her chest after they had finished.

Despite himself, Alistair looked at her curiously. "What in the Maker's name are you doing?"

"The midwives I spoke to said staying like this for a few moments after intercourse might aid in conception," Anora explained in an irritated tone.

"You look ridiculous," he told her. "And this coming from a naked man chained to a bed."

"Come now, Alistair," she said with her head turned back towards the ceiling. "Conceiving a child with you will take some time, surely. We might as well be civil."

"We can be civil when you and your guards stop… _violating_ me for your own gain and amusement," he snapped.

Anora gave a condescending laugh. "Don't pretend you didn't enjoy what we just did. You were yelling so loudly, they likely heard you in the lowest levels of the basement."

Alistair refused to look at her, his face feeling red hot with shame.

"I wonder, did you make those sounds when coupling with that Dalish mongrel of yours?"

Alistair whirled his head around to face her, his eyes piercing and dark with fury. "Don't you _dare_ speak about her that way! You'd be lucky if you could be a quarter of the woman she is!"

Anora smirked and pushed herself off the bed. "Was," she said simply as she walked to her discarded robe and pulled it over her shoulders.

"What?" Alistair snarled.

"'The woman she _was_ ,'" she corrected again. The demure expression on her face did little to mask the sadistic glee in her eyes.

"What… what do you mean by that?"

Anora watched him as she tied the belt around her robe. "You didn't think your Warden actually survived ending the Blight, did you?"

Alistair stared at her, his brain refusing to comprehend what she was telling him.

"Have you never wondered," Anora continued, "why it must be a Grey Warden to kill the archdemon? I know little of the details, but something about the taint within you allows you to slay not only the body of the dragon, but the soul as well. At the cost of the Warden who gave the killing blow."

"No…" Alistair murmured, his throat closing around the words. "You're… You're lying."

She chuckled. "Why would I make up such a thing?"

Hot tears pooled in his eyes. "Please, no… Please… Just tell me you're lying."

Anora merely sighed and walked to the door. "I will see you again in a few days, Alistair, after I have consulted with my midwives. Perhaps we can try other positions that will be better for conception."

Alistair barely heard her. "Please…" He cried freely now, not caring if she or the guards saw him breaking. "Oh, please, Maker! No…"

The guards came and unchained him from the bed. They all but carried him from the room and threw him back into the storage closet with the window and tiny cot. Alistair lay there on the floor where he landed, curling his shackled legs in towards his chest, his mind swimming with the last, final image of Tangi. Chestnut hair, tied back with wisps framing her slender face. Terrified eyes, shining with love and tears.

In the four months of his incarceration, he had wanted to die many times, would have preferred it to the daily agonies of his imprisonment. This new torture – the knowing he would truly never see his Tangi again – felt like death, felt like dying. For what was left of life, if there was nothing left to live for?

o.O.o

Anora had Alistair brought back into the bedchamber a few days later, but found herself leaving frustrated. Alistair, consumed with grief, could not bring himself to arousal, despite some level of teasing on the queen's part. This continued during the next few attempts over the following week such that Anora's patience had obviously grown thin.

"What use are you to me, then?" she snapped at him one morning, tying her robe around her as she headed for the door.

Alistair lay on the bed and didn't look at her. Despite the fact that they no longer chained him to the bed, he hadn't struggled. Or moved much at all from where the guards had placed him.

Anora waited a moment at the doorway to see if he would answer. When he said nothing, she flounced from the room with a huff. After a moment, the guards dragged him to his feet once more and threw him into his room.

A new basket of food sat beside the door. Alistair stared at it, not feeling the hunger gnawing at his insides. He'd barely eaten since Anora told him that Tangi had died, even though good food was almost always available. Each bite he had taken tasted like nothing at all. Even the cheese did nothing to awaken an appetite within him. Instead of eating, he curled up onto the cot and stared at the walls until he fell into a dreamless sleep.

It was nighttime when the guards pulled him from the cot and dragged him roughly into the bedchamber. They tossed him onto the bed and shut the door behind them as they left. Alistair blinked up at the bed's canopy, mildly surprised to be taken there again so soon, but not caring why. The room was dimly lit by only a few flickering candles.

Someone entered. A small-framed woman, lithe and slender, who stepped hesitantly into the room. Anora came in after her, and shut the door behind them. Rather than approaching the bed, Anora sat down at the writing desk and watched.

Alistair paid the other woman no heed at first, but something familiar caught his eye. The woman – an elf, it would appear – wore her hair in a tight ponytail at the back of her head, with light wisps framing her face. The candlelight danced across her, obscuring her features, but he glimpsed a flash of chestnut and gold. He gasped. "T-Tangi?"

The elf did not answer, but rather lowered herself before him. Alistair stared at her, propping himself up to try to make out her face in the dim light. He could see nothing but a slim nose and high cheekbones, but he was becoming increasingly aware of the thin, gauzy material clinging to the cream-colored skin of her pert breasts and round hips. He swallowed, feeling suddenly warm in the face and… other places. "It… it can't be," he murmured.

Some part of him knew that was true – that even if Tangerine were alive, she wouldn't be there in Fort Drakon with him. But everything else within him was so consumed with desperation, he allowed himself to believe the lie. He watched, captivated, as the elf gently took his rising cock and massaged it, before placing her lips tentatively against its tip.

Alistair gave a loud groan. The need within him soared from non-existent to nearly all-encompassing. He wanted to embrace her, kiss her, run his hands all over her, plunge into her sweet folds again and again until the two of them were utterly spent. Yet he left his hands extended above his head, afraid to touch her or even look too closely at her now, knowing that one small difference could shatter the illusion. For a few glorious moments, he was with his love again, and he would do nothing to spoil that feeling.

He moaned her name again and again, half-uttered murmurings of love and devotion spilling from his lips. He was near delirious with rapture, and he struggled for some modicum of control, so he could hold on to the lie and the fleeting joy it brought him. The elf made no sound, save for the delightfully wet noises of her warm mouth sucking and stroking his throbbing erection. Each time he glanced at her, he allowed himself to see Tangi's head bobbing between his legs, her pointed ears tickling the insides of his thighs. "Oh, Maker…" he moaned in a half-crazed whisper. "Thank you for her… thank you…"

The pressure was building rapidly now, and Alistair found it increasingly difficult to maintain control over himself. The strength of his desire for her was too great, and the feeling of being with her again too overwhelming for him to last much longer. Before he could reach his climax, however, the elf was wrenched from him entirely. A moment of cold air against his wet skin made Alistair's eyes shoot open. Suddenly, Anora was on top of him, and his cock was enveloped again, this time deep within her folds. He was too close to the edge to make himself stop as she rode him roughly, her insides squeezing and milking him. He gave a hoarse yell as he spurted his seed into her, immediately filled with loathing. Loathing for himself or for her, he was not sure. And as he caught sight of the elf sitting at the floor by his feet, he felt keenly that it was both, for it was quite clear now that this elf – a serving girl or another prisoner, perhaps – was merely a pale shadow of his Tangerine.

Anora smiled at him triumphantly from above him, but said nothing as she dismounted and lay on the bed with her legs curled to her chest.

Alistair gave her a look of disgust and got to his feet shakily. "I'm sorry," he whispered to the elf woman still seated on the floor. He shuffled to the door. "Let me out," he called to the guards.

"I knew I could bring you to your senses, Alistair," Anora called from the bed.

Alistair turned on the spot to glare at her. "You defile her memory!"

The queen sat up and pulled her robe on. "I did nothing. You defiled her perfectly well on your own," she said, gesturing to the elf.

A surge of rage came over him and he lunged at her with his shackled hands raised to strike her. Anora yelped and pulled the elf woman up to shield herself from the coming blow. Alistair stopped himself at the look of terrified resignation on the elf's candlelit face. He dropped his hands and fell to the floor, suddenly exhausted.

"Guards!" Anora called. "Take him away!"

The soldiers entered instantly, and hauled Alistair back to the storage closet. He sat on the floor for several moments, unmoving, trying – without success – not to think about what had just happened.

He would have fucked that girl senseless if given more time, without any regard for her. He would have let the illusion of Tangerine consume him… No. It _had_ consumed him and he would have ridden it out to its fullest if Anora had not interrupted. He could have stopped it. His hands, though shackled, had not been fastened to the bed. Shame overwhelmed him. But, even moreso, he was overcome with such blinding hatred for Anora. Hatred for locking him away and torturing him. For raping and degrading him. For keeping him from standing beside Tangi in her final moments. It was all he had now. No hope of rescue, no dream of seeing Tangerine again. Was hatred enough to live on?


	8. Chapter 8

Alistair had gradually begun to eat again, his appetite returning as the hatred for Anora festered within him. It was poor timing on his part, however. Perhaps he had scared Anora off for the time being with his near-attack. Or perhaps she was coming up with some new ruse to play with his mind. Or perhaps she was merely busy. It mattered little, for he had barely finished the contents of the basket by the door when the guards came, and escorted him back through the dungeons into his cell below.

A new routine began this time. No torture, no rapings. The only person he ever saw was the helmeted guard who wordlessly emptied his waste bucket, refilled the water bucket, and brought him a few crusts of bread and strips of meat to keep him from utter starvation. Alistair was sure he was being fed even less than before, though he wondered if it only felt that way after having enjoyed real food for a few weeks. The cold, too, seemed especially bitter after being warm and comfortable. The days bled into each other, broken only by fitful dreams of food, killing Anora, and Tangi's terrified face.

At first, Alistair said nothing, afraid that speaking aloud would mean he was going crazy. But as the days surely turned into weeks and weeks, he thought he would go mad if he didn't talk to himself, if only to hear something other than the faint screams of torture in the distance.

"I miss you," he said tentatively into the cold air. His voice was hoarse and cracking from disuse, and he took a sip of water to ease his throat. "I miss you so much it hurts." He wasn't sure whether it was less crazy to talk to a dead woman than to talk to himself. But it comforted him a little, to think that Tangi might hear his words from beyond the Fade.

He stared at his shivering hands, now filthy again. "I thought if I wished hard enough, you might be able to sense me somehow… that you'd know I'm still alive. I thought… I thought I might someday see you again." He gave a bitter, somewhat hysterical laugh. "What was I thinking? Nothing ever works out for me. You'd think I'd learn by now."

It was easier to talk now that he had begun. He had once – what seemed like ages ago – been quite a gregarious person, and after months of no one to truly talk to and weeks of total isolation, the words tumbled out of him in a downpour. "Right now, you would have said something simple but amazing. You always said just the right thing to make me feel better about myself or give me hope when I lacked the strength and confidence. I… I could really use words like that right now." Pulling his knees closer to him, he began rocking where he sat; the constant movement was hypnotic. "I don't know how I can keep going. Most of the time, I don't know why I bother. These past several months have been… 'horrible' doesn't even begin to describe it. But at least I had the hope of seeing you again. When Anora told me you had died… I didn't… I wanted…" His voice broke, and he swallowed. "I don't want to keep living this way. But she was the one who took you from me. Or took me from you. She was the one who… who _violated_ your memory and made me want to do… unspeakable things to an innocent woman." Alistair punched a shaking fist into the stone floor as he spoke. "I want it all to end, but not before I see her pay for what she's done. It's not honorable or noble, but I want to see her die by my own hands before I go. I want to see her suffer… Does that make me a monster? Is that what they've turned me into? If I don't turn into a monster, I'm nothing. Just a shell of a man with nothing left in his life worth living for. Can I even maintain this level of… hatred or vengeance or whatever you want to call it? I'm just so tired and cold and… well, hopeless. It'd be easier to give up on life at this point, wouldn't it? So much easier to stop caring…"

Alistair looked around his empty cell and sighed, wishing he could hear another voice answer him and suddenly feeling lonelier than ever. He lay down on the floor, curled his legs in towards his chest, and pulled the tattered blanket over him. "I miss you," he whispered fiercely, before falling into a dreamless sleep.

o.O.o

The noise of footsteps woke Alistair from a fitful slumber, and he scrambled up onto trembling feet. It wasn't just the guard with his food. There were two sets of footsteps. Anxiety and excitement warred within him. He was desperate for some social contact. A voice, a whisper. Anything. But he knew. No good could come from a break in the monotony.

Two helmeted guards appeared at his cell door. They wordlessly opened the door, grabbed him by the chains between his wrists and pulled him out of the cell.

"Where… where are you taking me?" Alistair stammered. He tried to keep up, but with his bound feet unused to walking more than the few feet between the walls of his cell, the guards ended up dragging him along beside them.

The table. He had nearly forgotten about it in the months since the torture sessions ended, when he was first brought to the upper rooms. The two guards locked him onto the table as before, his legs kicked apart below him. The torchlight in the torture chamber burnt afterimages into his eyes after the near darkness of his cell.

Alistair struggled to keep calm, his eyes tearing up from the relative brightness. "Why?" he asked them. "Why t-torture me now?"

The guards did not answer. But through the haze of his fear, Alistair could hear more footsteps. They drew nearer until several more guards emerged through the doorway, pouring into the room, filling it to near capacity.

They'd taken the air out of the room. They had to have done so, because why was it suddenly so hard to breathe? Alistair gaped, wild-eyed, at the gathering of tin soldiers now surrounding him. Too many. Far too many after no one at all. Little noises rippled around the room. Not his voice, or not just the whimpering noises he now realized he was making. It took a few moments to realize what it was.

They were laughing at him.

Alistair's breaths came in short heaves, and he was sure he would pass out. But he noticed something different. The elven mage with the downcast eyes, in between the guards. He carried with him a small basin of soapy water and a glass jar.

A face. Alistair focused on that face, on the elf who came up behind him with his basin and his jar. His eyes suddenly turned upward, meeting Alistair's gaze with a look of intense sympathy and sorrow.

"What…" Alistair began. And had to try again, because he could not catch his breath. "What are you... g-going to do to me?"

The mage glanced at the guards with a momentary expression of terror then shook his head at Alistair. He was not allowed to speak.

He set the jar down on the table next to Alistair's left arm and set the basin down on the floor beside his feet. There was a washcloth floating in the water, and the elf picked it up, rubbing the cloth between his hands to create a lather. He knelt, reaching between Alistair's legs with the soapy cloth.

Alistair gasped at the contact. Warm cloth met cold skin as the elf gently scrubbed around his groin, up to the tip of his cock, down and around his sac, and finally up between the cheeks of his backside. The elf swished the cloth through the water a few times, wringing it out in between each pass through the water, then repeated the action.

Tears prickled at Alistair's eyes that had nothing to do with the brightness of the room. Though he knew that these preparations would not lead anywhere good – for what good could come from a room of torture? – and though the elf was just doing what Anora must have ordered him to do, the attentions felt like kindness. And his eyes… It was the first time someone had looked at him with true feeling. Not since a long time ago. Not since the Landsmeet, and Tangerine's terrified stare.

The mage was thorough, and it took several repetitions to wipe weeks of filth from Alistair's skin. When he was finished with his ministrations, he stood with a sigh and took a flask and a small metal rod from a pocket of his robes. He poured a small amount of the flask's contents into his hands and coated the rod with a liberal amount of oil.

Alistair felt the trickle of slippery fluid down the crack of his ass and began to panic again. "No… please don't," he groaned.

The mage's eyes, downcast once again, did not meet Alistair's, but he turned his back to the guards and mouthed the words, "I'm sorry."

Slender fingers pressed against Alistair's entrance, massaging gently for a moment before pushing inside. Alistair let out a ragged breath, the soft touch sending warm tingles throughout his body. The fingers flexed and spread, stretching him, before they were removed entirely, replaced with the cool metal probe. The elf let out a tiny exhalation of breath as well, not quite a sigh, and channeled the slightest pulse of lightning magic through the rod.

Alistair gasped, the electricity both stimulating and somewhat painful. The elf began moving the probe in time with the pulses, never enough electricity to cause damage, yet increasing with intensity with each interval. His inner walls contracted and spasmed around the probe, creating waves of pleasure deep within him. Alistair began to moan loudly even as his face flushed hot with shame. He was growing harder with each pulse, despite how frantically he tried to will the erection away. That ripple of laughter was back again, and he was suddenly and intensely aware of the number of guards in the room. Not long ago, he was desperate to be anywhere, so long as there were other people. But at that moment, all he wanted to do was crawl back into the safety of his cell where no one would see his shame and laugh.

The probe warmed under the energy; it was now uncomfortably hot. Alistair hissed at the increasing pain, even as he still groaned at the pulses of pleasure shooting up through his hard length. There was a sudden cool sensation around his entrance, and Alistair gave a soft gasp. In the recesses of his mind that was still a templar, he could sense a bit of healing magic emanating from the mage. Slowly, slowly, the pain began to subside.

He glanced over his shoulder at the mage, who did not look at him as he continued massaging Alistair's insides with the electrified rod. Alistair did not know whether the elf could see his expression, but nonetheless, it was filled with gratitude.

The elf picked up the jar from the table and placed it over the tip of Alistair's swollen cock. After another few minutes of massaging, Alistair shouted wordlessly as he came, and semen spurted forth to fill the small jar. The orgasm was white hot, intense, lasting for several moments before he slumped against the table, utterly spent.

The elf sighed with relief, his task completed. He slowly removed the probe from Alistair's ass, capped the jar, and cast ice magic over it to preserve the contents. Without sparing another glance at the man splayed across the table beside him, he picked up the basin and left the room with two guards, the jar of Alistair's seed tucked safely in a pouch at his waist.

Alistair stared after him for a moment, his head swimming from overstimulation both physical and mental. He barely registered the guards unlocking him from the table, and by the time he focused on his surroundings once more, he was back in his cell, paddocked like the cow he felt himself to be.


	9. Chapter 9

Alistair was alone again, and – again – he wasn't sure how much time had passed. Certainly weeks, but how many? Had they turned into months by now? It had been silent for so long, broken only by the occasional scream of a prisoner in the distance. Alistair felt a kinship with those far-off tortured souls. He screamed too, cursing Anora, the guards, the other inmates. He talked to himself, to Tangi, to the walls of stone, imagining responses. Words were difficult sometimes. Sometimes he stammered and other times he forgot what he was saying entirely, trailing off mid-sentence. Sometimes he sat in his cell, trying to recall a word, obsessing over it until it finally came to him.

They took him out to use the rod on him only twice more. These sessions did not have nearly as many guards in attendance, perhaps bored with torture that did not directly involve them. As depraved as he felt about it, Alistair found he looked forward to the sessions, if only to see the elven mage's face and be reminded he was not truly alone in the world.

He tried to predict when the next session would come, and spent much of his time counting how many times the guard came. The activity was a welcome distraction. The guard came every day, as always, and each time he came, Alistair leapt to his feet in eager anticipation – not only of food, but of the mere possibility of some human interaction.

"Ple-please!" he called between the bars as the cell door shut behind the guard. "Please, just talk to me! Say something, anything! Please!"

The guard did not even turn to look at him, and continued on his way down the corridor.

Alistair ran his hands through his greasy hair as panic and hysteria bubbled up from his stomach. "Stay calm, it's all right, it's all right," he told himself, taking several shaky breaths. "He'll be back tomorrow and you'll just have to try again."

He took a bit of stone from the floor and began scratching another tick mark into the wall. "If today makes another week, that makes it…" Alistair reached for the chunk of bread and tore into it as he tried to do the math in his head. As much as Morrigan had ridiculed him for being stupid, Alistair had prided himself in having a sharp mind. Yet, as time went on without anyone to talk to, he found it increasingly difficult to concentrate. The bread had long since been devoured by the time he could come up with the correct numbers. "A little over two months since they…" He swallowed, recalling the memory. "…Since they took me out the last time? But wait… did I count those marks over there? If I didn't, it could be more like three months. Or… or almost four? No, that can't be right…"

He sat back against the wall and took a few more deep breaths. Two months? Three? It was almost better not knowing how long it had been since he'd last interacted with a person. He closed his eyes and ran his hands over his body, rubbing at first to warm the skin, but allowing them to linger in long caresses. He told himself the hands were someone else's, and the sheer idea of someone else – anyone else – touching him at all made him nearly weep with longing. His cock rose tentatively, the thought of someone's skin against his too tantalizing no matter how cold it was. Alistair took it into one hand and stroked furiously as he cupped and massaged his balls with the other, praying for enough warmth to reach a release. It took a long time – an agonizingly long time – but when he finally came he gave a loud roar of triumph at the rare burst of pleasure rocking his body.

He panted in erratic breaths as he came down from his orgasm, feeling a brief wave of contentment wash over him before he became aware of the cold once more. He opened his eyes, and he was just as alone as he had ever been. Pushing back the hysteria that was now always just beneath the surface of his mind, he curled up again and waited for sleep to come.

o.O.o

Alistair passed the time over the next few days by pacing his tiny cell and talking to Tangi. At times, he found himself obsessively counting the few steps it took to get from one end of the cell to the other. He found the movement to be soothing, and supposed it was better than sleeping all the time as he tended to do.

Footsteps in the hallway made Alistair stop in his tracks. He shuffled excitedly to the bars, the anticipation building as he realized there was, once again, more than one set of footsteps resounding on the stone floor. Someone else. Someone different. Would he see the elven mage again? His hands trembled against the bars.

There were two helmeted guards, like last time. The first one opened the cell door and gestured for Alistair to come out.

"I… I'm leaving?" he asked tentatively.

The guard nodded and gestured again.

The silence was maddening. "Just talk to me, damn it!" Alistair yelled, his voice cracking in desperation.

The guard gave a grunt of frustration and went toward him. Alistair stood stock still, unsure whether to back away from even this threatening interaction. A small club connected with the back of his head, and he crumpled, his vision tunneling into blackness.


	10. Chapter 10

His head ached sharply as he woke, and it took some time for his eyes to adjust to the light. It was not a brightly lit room, wherever he was, but after months of nothing but dim torchlight, it took several moments for his eyes to stop tearing up long enough for even a small peek past his eyelids. He lay upon a soft rug on a stone floor, and something was different about him that he could not immediately place. Gingerly opening his eyes further, he realized he was in the upstairs bedchamber, with its canopied bed and curtained wall of windows. And it suddenly occurred to him what it was that was different about him.

He was clean. His hair and beard had once again been cut short, and his skin was stark white. That meant that some servants' hands had been all over him while he was unconscious, Alistair realized, and he nearly wept with the loss of feeling that touch. He hugged his knees to his chest and rocked where he sat, trying to keep the ever-present hysteria at bay.

He sat there like that for hours, waiting for something to happen. Finally, Anora entered, carrying with her a small basket of fresh bread and meat. For weeks, Alistair had been plotting various ways he would kill her with his bare hands, but at the sight of her – the first face he had seen in months – and the small feast she held, his resolve shattered. A deep hunger, both physical and mental, consumed him, and he shook with want.

She set the basket on the writing desk and turned to him. "Hello, Alistair," she greeted blandly.

Words not his own. A voice not from his lips. He knew he should hate the sound of her, but it was like a sip of water after days without. He wanted so much more to quench his intolerable thirst. "A-Anora," he stammered, feeling almost as if this could not be real. "How… how long…?" He reeled from the shock of speaking to another person, his mind rendered blank and empty.

"Almost seven months, I believe," she replied, sitting primly in the chair beside the desk.

More. He had to hear more. "And… and what did you do with… with the stuff you collected from me?"

"I was trying a few experimental fertilization techniques," she said as if speaking about trying a new vintage of wine. "You were not performing to task last time, so I thought I'd try to take you out of the equation completely. However, trying to conceive a child artificially was… inefficient." She sighed dramatically. "We shall see if you have learned to behave yourself a bit better than last time. Do as I say, and I will give you company and food. Defy me and it's back to constant solitude and starvation. Do you understand?"

He drank in her words and nodded eagerly. He could not face the isolation again. "Yes! A-anything you want."

"Good." She strode to the bed and disrobed. Alistair gaped at her sudden nakedness. Merely seeing her face was more stimulation that he'd had in months. To see her body in its entirety… He found himself backing away from her. As much as he wanted to feel her touch, he was strangely terrified. It was too much. Too much.

She sat on the bed and beckoned him to come nearer. "You will pleasure me," she commanded. "If I am satisfied with your performance, you may eat. If you try to hurt me or try to eat before I am satisfied, the guard will punish you." She nodded toward the door. Alistair had been so focused on Anora that he had not noticed the guard enter. The guard was a woman this time – he could tell by the shape of her breastplate – and he stared at the whip she held in her hand. "After you eat, I will allow you to rest. And if you've the strength, we can try to conceive a child."

"I…" Alistair hesitated. "I don't know if I'm… I'm ready to do all that."

"I can always leave."

"No!" Panic seized him. "N-no, please don't go!"

"Then do as I say."

His breath came in short bursts, making him giddy and light-headed, but he managed to get to his feet. He shuffled to the edge of the bed. Anora lay down with her legs spread, and he knelt shakily between them. He placed his hand carefully, almost reverently, against the milky skin of her thigh, and he sighed at the feel of soft skin against his. As he drew his face close to her, the heat of her sex nearly drove him to madness, and the need to taste her overwhelmed him. He pressed his lips upon her, and – oh, Maker, the taste of her! All hesitation washed away from him, his mouth reveling in the taste of something other than stale bread and stagnant water, his cheeks warming with the touch of skin belonging to another being. He lapped at her hungrily and she moaned in appreciation, her folds saturating in sweet, slippery juices. His hands roamed her body, the chains clinking loudly as he stroked every inch of flesh he could reach. His own arousal sprang forth between his thighs, the reality of another person's touch so much more intoxicating than the fantasy of a few days prior.

What was only moments ago too much for him to handle was now not enough, and he wanted more. Much more. His body throbbed and ached with desire. He wanted to press himself against her, feel her hands all over his body, her mouth on his cock already so slick with pre-cum. He wanted to fuck her senseless, now now now, though even that seemed like too little to sate the roaring beast within him. Fear, however, kept him at his task – fear that she might leave him all alone again if he did not do exactly as she said. But the wanting – oh, Maker! The wanting! – was too much, and even as he suckled and nipped at her sex and the small bud of nerves within, his hands wandered to his cock to stroke furiously in time with his ministrations.

So close. It would only take a few strokes to get him to climax, he was so hard and _ready_. But just as he neared release, a sharp crack resounded in the room, and Alistair cried out in surprise at the burn of pain against his backside.

"You take your pleasure when I say, and not a moment before!" Anora snapped, pushing herself from the bed and glaring down at him. "You will not waste your seed in my presence."

"Please, Anora," Alistair begged, his erection having diminished somewhat at the sting of the whip, but the aching want was still painfully present. "I need… I can't stand… please…"

"Finish with me first, then. Perhaps your desperation will encourage you to move things along faster." She settled back down onto the bed and waited.

Alistair gritted his teeth, a flash of the old hatred breaking past the intense need of her company. He plunged in again, his tongue laving over her clitoris with renewed vigor. Anora mewled approvingly, opening herself wider to his attentions. Her folds were moistening rapidly, and Alistair, wanting to feel as much as he was allowed, penetrated her with one finger, then two, massaging her and opening her wider. She was so warm and wet, he felt he might go mad from the desire to be inside her, to feel that heat encasing his swollen member. He had three fingers inside her now, even as he licked and sipped and slurped at her. Her back arched and her hips bucked against his face and hand in wild abandon. And though his mouth and arm tired from the effort, he kept up the pace, praying that she would come soon, so that he might finally, finally feel her in full.

And come she did. She gave a shrill cry of "Oh, Cailan!" as her body spasmed and tensed. Alistair slowed his attentions as she began to relax, and watched the aftershocks of her orgasm ripple across her body. His hands itched to go to his red and thrumming cock, and it was only the threat of a whipping and the promise of sex that stilled them.

It took a few moments for Anora to regain her composure. She sat up, her normally perfect braided buns coming loose in frayed tangles. "Thank you, Alistair. That was lovely," she said. "You may eat now."

In the haze of his desire, Alistair had nearly forgotten about the basket of food. At the mention of eating, however, the Grey Warden hunger roared to life. He stumbled hurriedly to the basket, shoving chunks of soft bread and succulent meat into his mouth as soon as his fingers could reach them. His eyes watered with the effort of swallowing so much at once, but he did not slow his pace. In the far reaches of his mind, he knew his stomach and bowels would make him regret the speed and quantity of his feeding, but for now, he could not bring himself to care. He could barely even taste the food before it went down, but merely reveled in the relief of not being hungry. The fullness of his belly was an alien and almost painful feeling, but – oh, thank the Maker – at least he wasn't hungry.

He licked the remaining crumbs and juices from his hands, tasting Anora's own juices mixed in. He looked at her hopefully, his cock still painfully erect, even while neglected. He didn't want to beg. He had already done enough of that today, though he had no illusions of dignity now, after what had nearly been a year of incarceration.

Anora watched him with an expression of mild disgust. "There is a basin of water there in the corner. Wash up before you come back to bed."

It was easier to breathe after taking a few large gulps of the clear, crisp water in the basin, as the liquid eased the passage of the lumps of food through his esophagus. He rinsed off his hands and mouth before shambling back to Anora. The fullness of his stomach had begun to make him drowsy, but he had slept enough in the last several weeks to fill a lifetime, and he _needed_ to feel her.

"Do you require some rest?" she asked. Her tone made it perfectly clear that she wasn't concerned about his well-being, but rather his ability to carry out his task.

He shook his head vehemently. A hunger of a different sort – consuming both body and soul, and persistently present for so long – clawed at his insides, and it took all his restraint not to fling himself at her and dry hump her mindlessly.

"Very well," she said after a short pause. "You may come to me. Missionary will be fine for now, but I warn you that you will be whipped mercilessly at the slightest hint of a threat to me."

"Yes, I understand," he agreed hastily.

Alistair approached her slowly, but with obvious eagerness. He crawled onto the bed over her and placed his chained hands onto the covers carefully above her head. He settled on top of her, and moaned at the first contact of her pert breasts against his chest, the tickle of the soft curls between her legs against his throbbing erection. He let some of his weight press upon her, and his mind reeled with the simple ecstasy of flesh upon flesh. He moved against her slowly, pressing his hard length into the valley of her folds, generating heat and wetness and glorious, slippery friction. Though Anora's expression appeared impatient, the noise she made at his movements hinted at approval.

The sensation of her touch was intoxicating, but not enough. No, not nearly enough. "Please, Anora," Alistair panted. "I can't reach us. I… I want to be inside you."

Her mouth curled into a smirk, and she lowered her hand to his shaft. As she took hold of him, his skin sang with triumph. He had never before been so _aware_ of each brush of skin, each fleeting touch. She expertly guided him into her, and he groaned loudly as he sank into her, inch by inch. _Oh, Maker… Oh, thank you, sweet Andraste, thank you…_ his mind chanted, his breath already ragged with the intensity of his desire.

Though Alistair told himself to take it slowly, it had been too long since he had felt the simplest touch of another person, and she was so warm and _tight_ around him. The rhythm he began was quick and brutal. He pounded into her, taking her much in the same way he took in his food, desperate just to quell the raging hunger. With the pace he set, he only hoped to last a few minutes at most, and it wasn't long before he gave a strangled cry as his climax overtook him. He tried to cling to the waves of pleasure, knowing how rare such moments were in his life as it was now, but they were gone almost as quickly as they had come. Shaking with exhaustion, he collapsed on top of Anora, still rejoicing in the contact of their bodies.

Anora did not find the closeness nearly so appealing. "Get off of me, Alistair," she commanded.

He rolled off of her unceremoniously, and he felt his body cry out in the loss of her touch.

She curled up her knees as she had months before, lying in a ball looking up at the ceiling. Alistair said nothing this time, and took comfort that he was still close enough to feel the heat from her flushed body. After a few moments, she sat up and got dressed.

Alistair sat up sharply. "You- you're leaving?" he asked, and was unable to keep an edge of panic out of his voice.

"Of course."

"But… no!" _Don't leave, please please please don't leave me alone again!_ His mind begged when his mouth refused to. "Just- just give me a few minutes. Just a few minutes, and I'll be ready again. Please!" He reached out and grabbed her wrist.

Another sharp crack echoed in the large room and a stinging welt appeared on Alistair's shoulder. He cried out and dropped her wrist. "Please…" he whimpered. "I don't want to be alone."

Anora gave him an indifferent look. "I've dallied with you long enough for today. I will return tomorrow." With that, she left the room, the guard following close and locking the door behind them.

Alistair threw himself at the door and railed at it. "Come back!" he cried. He beat his shackled hands against the door for several minutes before collapsing in a hysterical heap on the floor. If his hair hadn't been cropped short, he might have begun tearing it out.

He wasn't sure how long he lay there on the floor, his chest heaving in dry, rasping breaths. Trembling and light-headed, but feeling somewhat calmer, he got to his hands and knees and crawled to the bed. He climbed into it, and arranged the cushions into a long shape. He lay down and pressed himself against them, closing his eyes and imagining that they were a person. The smell of sweat and sex still hung lightly in the room, and this, coupled with the softness of the bed and warmth of the room, lulled Alistair into a deep, but uneasy sleep.


	11. Chapter 11

Anora returned the following morning, as promised. Alistair was so relieved that she had not abandoned him again that he obeyed her orders to the letter, without comment. Thus began another routine. Anora came each morning with a small amount of food. Alistair was allowed to eat after pleasuring her with his mouth and fingers. Then, after he had eaten, they had sex. After a few days, the shock of being able to touch another person had worn off, and Alistair began to last longer, and even came to enjoy their coupling.

He knew he was supposed to be hating her. He still hated her, in the back of his mind and the depths of his heart. But Anora had quickly – and, Alistair suspected, quite deliberately – become his entire world. Hers was the only face he ever saw, the only voice he ever heard. She was his only source of food and companionship. The bread and meat, the occasional fruit and cheese she brought were not near enough for a grown man Alistair's size, but the clawing starvation had ebbed to a dull, tolerable ache.

Days and weeks turned into months, until Alistair's time in isolation became a foggy haze of memory. His mind was clear again, but it shut out the ordeal. All he knew was that things were better now, with someone to see and talk to. Even if it was Anora. He would do anything not to go back to solitary confinement. So he made himself forget that she had taken away his freedom and his only love, his dignity and his pride. He made himself forget that there was anything before her and small baskets of food and sex. Because he could not bear such loneliness again.

Anora entered the room one morning with her basket of food, as usual. It had been nearly a year – ten months, maybe? – since Alistair left isolation. At her arrival, he immediately went to the edge of the bed and and sat on his heels, waiting patiently for her to undress and lie down.

She set the basket down and approached him, taking off her robe as she did so. "There's a good man," she said with a small smile. Alistair preened with the approval.

She lay down on the bed and spread her legs before him. Alistair positioned himself between her thighs, and began licking her sex, his tongue delving into the folds that quickly became saturated with juices. The taste of her made his mouth water. Though he was not starving, he was quite hungry; yesterday's fare failed to satisfy him as much as usual. The flavor of her arousal was now so inextricably linked with being fed that tasting her made him hungrier, compelling him to bring her to completion all the sooner.

As soon as she climaxed, he looked up at her expectantly with his face still covered with her, waiting for permission to eat. After a moment, she glanced down at him and nodded. He leapt to his feet at her cue and shuffled to the basket. Though he ate much more slowly now than he had in the past, it still took only minutes for him to finish the basket's contents.

"My, hungry, aren't we?" Anora commented with a mild chuckle.

Alistair shrugged. "Shall I wash up now?"

Anora sat up and, to his surprise, shook her head. "No, I am taking my leave."

He blinked. "Already? Why?"

"I no longer require your services, at least in that regard." She pressed a hand to her belly and gave him a triumphant smile. "I am with child."

"You're… w-what? With…?" Alistair gaped at her.

"The midwives think I am nearly two months pregnant now." Anora spoke excitedly, almost to herself. "I have sent for a healer from the Circle who will care for me from now on. She can ensure there are no complications from the taint."

Alistair continued to stare at her, stunned. He remembered that, what seemed like a lifetime ago, he used to dream of becoming a father. He had yearned for a simple life, with a loving wife and a small house filled with the laughter and pattering feet of children. For the first time in months, he remembered that there was a world outside his gilded bedroom of a cage, and a life of freedom he should have been living. Familiar pangs of hopelessness bit at his insides. "Will I… will I be able to see the baby?"

Anora gave a short laugh, a sharp, mirthless thing. "What a ridiculous thing to ask. Of course not. You are not a father, Alistair. You are a donor, nothing more."

"You say 'donor' like I impregnated you willingly."

She smirked. "Didn't you?"

Alistair could say nothing. He wanted her, didn't he? Oh, how he had wanted her. Each day since he had been released from solitude, he rejoiced in her company. He'd begged to be inside her, to plow into her with sweet abandon, to feel something other than his own hands against his flesh. He had laid with her, to chase away the loneliness and despair that always threatened to consume him in her absence. Even now, after remembering that she was using him, he wanted her to stay, and feared what would happen now that she didn't need him for his royal seed. "What's to become of me, then?" he asked quietly after a long pause.

Anora shrugged. "It matters little to me. I will leave that to the discretion of the guards, I think."

Alistair shook his head and grabbed the hem of her sleeve. "No. No, please. They'll rape and torture me, Anora. Or worse, they'll lock me up all alone again!" Panic gripped him. "I can't go back to that, Anora! Please! Let me go. I promise you'll never hear from me again. Or kill me, if you'd prefer. Please, please just kill me!"

She wrenched her sleeve out of his hand. "You presume too much, Alistair. I still have use for you. You must be kept alive and close by in the likely event that someone will question my child's royal blood."

"Please, no! No more of this, Anora, please!"

Anora ignored him and rapped on the door. "Guards, I will take my leave now. Do with him what you will."

Alistair lunged toward her in desperation. Whether he intended to attack her or clutch at her to stay, he was not certain. But a guard stepped through the open door and blocked him from reaching her. "Anora!" he called again, but she did not answer him. His cries were instead greeted with a club to the back of his head, and the tunneling darkness that followed.

o.O.o

It was much as he had feared. When he awoke, he was back in his dungeon cell. Part of him hoped for torture, as it would mean that he would at least hear the voices of the guards jeering at him. But the days again passed without any human contact, save for the lone guard who changed his buckets and brought him food.

Alistair resumed pacing the length of his tiny cell and counting the times he saw the guard. There was little else he could do to pass the interminable hours alone. For the first time in nearly a year, he thought of Tangi, and considered talking to her again. But overwhelming shame filled him at how easily he had been cowed into submission, made a pet for Anora's pleasure. And though she had long since passed away, Alistair felt that this, above all, had been the ultimate in betrayals to his Tangerine. He felt unworthy to speak to her. Instead, he tried to recall his templar training, in hopes the mental clarity might stave off the loneliness and hysteria that he knew could consume him at any moment.

Once again, the days blended together into one long stream. There was little to distinguish one day from another, aside from some minor differences here and there. The time he heard a line of guards marching in a distant hall. Screams, louder than usual, echoing from a nearby chamber. The day he felt a strange, yet familiar sensation tingling in his spine.

The meditation turned out to help greatly, allowing his mind to remain focused for longer than it had during his previous solitude. Though the longing for another person's voice and touch were still ever-present, the intensity of that longing had dampened somewhat. Yet, as the long weeks surely bled into months, his ability to ignore his loneliness waned. His mind wandered to half-remembered conversations with people he had nearly forgotten. His six months with the Grey Wardens before Ostagar, and the brotherhood he shared with them. Arguments with Morrigan and drinking contests with Oghren. Easy chatter with Leliana and Wynne. Yet still, after all this time, thoughts of his beloved were met with Tangi's horror-stricken face.

It was becoming more difficult to pace his cell. The months of starvation were taking its toll on his body, rendering him weaker than a newborn kitten. However, he forced himself to maintain the activity, though in shorter spurts, to make sure his muscles did not atrophy from disuse.

Not for the first time, Alistair found himself amazed at the human will to live. It would be so much easier to stop eating, to allow himself to waste away into an eventual, blissful oblivion. But every time the guard came with the lump of bread and meat, he devoured it on the spot, unable to waste the food that would quell the hunger within him. Something in him wanted to live, but why? There was nothing left for him. No one coming to his rescue, nor anyone who even knew he was still alive. And though his hatred for Anora had been fully renewed, he now knew that his previous dream of killing her with his own hands was impossible as well. He could barely walk the three paces across his tiny cell – what hope did he have of mustering enough strength to attack her and succeed? There was nothing, except this monotonous existence, and yet something kept him eating and drinking and huddling for warmth to survive.

He cursed that part of him. Maker's breath, he wanted to die.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The story diverges from here. You are currently reading the Light Version, which continues in the following chapter. If you would like to continue reading with the Dark Version, please follow this link: http://archiveofourown.org/works/596181/chapters/1093024. Links will also be posted at the beginning of the next chapter for your convenience.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The story diverges from here. This is the Light Version. If you'd like to continue with the Dark Version instead, you can find it here: http://archiveofourown.org/works/596181/chapters/1093024, which skips you ahead to Chapter 12. Chapters 1-11 are identical. This is different take on the story, but occurs in the same world, so there are some spoilers for the Dark Version ahead.

Alistair awoke one day – or was it night? He could never be sure – to a rustling sound at his cell door. He hadn't heard the footsteps of the guard, and looked curiously at his waste bucket. The bucket was not even half full. Surely the guard had come only hours previously. Still, unwilling to let an opportunity to try for some interaction to pass, Alistair gave a tentative greeting. "H-hello?" he whispered, his voice hoarse from disuse. He was only faintly aware that the tingling feeling had returned to his spine.

Still more rustling, and the jingling of keys. Finally, the door opened slowly with a faint creak. A small figure in black leather armor stood there, head hooded with a scarf tied to cover the face. It looked to be a woman, though Alistair could not be sure in the dim torchlight. She had a ring of keys in her hand, and she knelt beside him, pulling his wrists to her so she could try each key in the lock of his shackles.

Alistair watched her in a daze. "Am I d-dreaming?" he asked, still whispering, not daring to hope that what was happening was more than the imaginings of his bored and despairing mind.

The woman did not answer, but kept hurriedly trying the numerous keys in the lock. Finally, after what seemed like ages, there was a click, and she breathed a sigh of relief as she twisted the key, letting the shackles fall away. Alistair's heart beat faster as he felt the weight leave his wrists. A tiny mirthless giggle slipped from his lips, and he struggled to keep it down. Could this be real? He marveled at the feel of the callused skin of his wrists. It certainly felt real. He heard her curse under her breath as she discovered she needed a different key for the fetters at his ankles, and watched as she tried key after key again.

Soon, his legs were free as well, and he felt suddenly light and clumsy with the lack of weight. "Can you stand? Can you walk?" she asked him in a quiet, muffled voice. She sounded familiar, but he was so filled with the shock of another voice, that he did not even try to place it.

He nodded. "I... I think so." She helped him to his feet. He felt unsteady, but his legs held.

She opened a small backpack and pulled a large, heavy cloak out of it. She draped it around him, clasped it at his neck, and pulled the deep hood over his head. "Keep close and stay behind me," she instructed hurriedly as she slipped a shortbow from her shoulder and notched an arrow into it. "Let me know if you're having trouble keeping up, but we must be quick."

Alistair nodded again, reveling in the warmth the cloak provided. He fought hard to quash the hysterical excitement bubbling up within him. If he let it surface, he could be a gibbering mess in moments, sobbing with gratitude and the first hope he'd felt in ages. More than likely, this was all still a very vivid dream, and he would awaken in a few hours with the crushing disappointment he had come to expect during his long incarceration.

The small woman left the cell, beckoning him to follow. She stepped lightly, her feet making no noise as they touched the stone floor. Alistair did his best to mimic her, but even when he was strong and well, he had no gift for stealth. He cringed at each small noise his bare feet made as he stepped clumsily through the corridor.

As they turned a corner, Alistair noticed two guards lying on the floor with arrows in their chests, no doubt this woman's victims during her entrance into the dungeon. He regarded them with a certain grim satisfaction before stepping over them as he followed the woman through the adjoining hallway.

They crept through Fort Drakon, twisting and turning through labyrinthine hallways and stairways, each littered here and there with the bodies of fallen guards. At one corner, the woman held her hand up to stop him, drew her arrow, and aimed into the distance. She let the arrow fly, then drew another with incredible deftness, and sent another flying almost before the first had fully left her bow. Two thunks some distance away told him she had gotten her marks, and she beckoned him to follow once more.

It was more activity than Alistair had had in a very long time, and he found his legs aching to keep up. He was unused to being able to step more than a few inches at each step, and his muscles protested with the added mobility. He stumbled frequently, and he cursed his limbs for not cooperating. If he really was being rescued, it would be devastating – and terribly ironic – if his tripping feet got them caught. Tripping feet were what got him here in the first place.

"Are you okay?" the woman asked, with genuine concern in her voice. "I'm sorry, I know this is difficult, but we must keep moving."

"I just…" Alistair panted. "I'm… I'm not used to…"

She nodded and pulled his arm over her shoulders, bearing some of his weight. "Better?"

Alistair's heart beat a tattoo in his chest at the closeness of her. The feel of another person after all this time… "Y-yes, better."

"Come on."

She half-carried him through the remaining corridors, stopping at each corner to make certain there were no guards coming. The part of Alistair that had been a warrior called out a warning in his mind. If they were taken by surprise like this, with her arms busy supporting him, even as skilled as she was with a bow, she would not be able to protect them. He chanted a prayer in his head that something might _finally_ go his way, that they would not be caught unawares.

They reached a long hall, having encountered only a few living guards along the way, and the woman cursed under her breath again. The hall was filled with ten to fifteen guards, taking their dinner break. "I was afraid of this…" she muttered.

Alistair tried to ignore the enticing smells of food coming from the chamber. "Th-there are too many. What are we going to do?"

The woman drew a dagger from her backpack and tucked the blade into her belt. She handed the pack to him. "Stay here," she said firmly. "I won't let any harm come to you."

"But…" Alistair protested as she leaned him against the wall. "You can't possibly take them all on your own."

He could not see her face, but he thought he glimpsed the slightest of smiles in her eyes. "I'll be right back."

From his vantage point in the shadows, he watched as she let loose a wide volley of arrows almost all at once. Some of the guards fell immediately, while the others scrambled to their feet. The woman darted in, dispatching two with her dagger before they had the chance to draw their swords. She wrenched a greatsword out of the grasp of one of the guards and hit multiple foes with a sweeping arc of the blade. The sword came up again with easy grace, landing a mighty blow on the final guard.

He gaped at her when she returned. He opened his mouth to say something, but she shook her head to still his words.

"I'll explain everything in due time," she assured him, discarding the greatsword. "But we must hurry. We're almost out, and some of these guards are not quite dead yet."

Alistair nodded, and she slung his arm around her shoulders once more. Though they were still in danger of capture, in this small woman's arms, he felt… safe.

They went through the dining hall and followed the remaining corridors to the guards' entrance. Nearly overwhelmed with disbelief and inexplicable fear, Alistair exited Fort Drakon. A cool gust of evening air gave him his first taste of freedom in over 2 years, and he felt lightheaded with the sheer idea of it. He took big, heaving gulps of the fresh air, his eyes welling with tears.

The woman's arms tightened around him, and she pulled him into a nearby alleyway, allowing their pace to slow. "The drunks will be out at this time of night, so no one should think too much of me supporting you as we walk," she said in a low tone. "While we don't want to run through the streets, we should not tarry either. We want to be as far from here as possible when they discover you're gone."

He nodded again and allowed her to guide him through the near-empty streets. Even in the dark night, Alistair was painfully aware of how _open_ everything was, his mind reeling to comprehend the vastness of the city and the unending sky above. He clung to her, comforting himself with the closeness of her, not knowing who she was and – at the moment – not caring. She was another person and, more importantly, his rescuer, when he had long since given up any hope of leaving that prison.

Their progress through the city was slow. Alistair was exhausted from so much walking, his unused muscles crying out with so much activity. Fort Drakon was at the heart of the city, and Alistair remembered that it took a long time to reach the city gates from there even when he had been healthy, much less in a weakened state such as he was. The farther they went through the city, the more weight he placed on the woman's shoulders until she was all but dragging him through the streets and back alleys.

"I'm sorry," Alistair grunted. They had just stumbled against an alleyway wall.

"It's fine," she assured him, adjusting his weight across her shoulders. "I'll carry you if I have to."

He looked down at her curiously. Even emaciated as he was, he still had to weigh more than she did; she had to be very strong. Either that, or she was very determined. Likely, he mused, a little of both. "Who are you?" he asked finally. The question had been weighing on his mind since he first saw her in his cell. He hadn't asked before now, not wanting to shatter the glorious illusion if that was all it was. But he had to know.

He tried to make out what little he could see of her face, but she was well-hidden under the hood and scarf, and the street was cast in shadow. "Later," she told him. "Let's get you out of the city first."

They had finally reached the Alienage and began to relax a bit, knowing that they were unlikely to be bothered there. Alistair stared in amazement at the gigantic tree in the center of the ramshackle village. At one time, he had barely made note of the tree, thinking it interesting, but nothing more. Now he was struck with the beauty and enormity of it. It was a _tree_ and it was so gloriously alive. He wished he could see it in daylight, to see the color of it, the way it moved in the wind, the sunlight dappling through the branches. It was as if a cloud had lifted, and he suddenly remembered that these things existed – trees and sunlight and color.

They had just crossed the gate to the Marketplace when a shrill sound echoed in the distance. "That would be the alarm," the woman muttered.

Alistair felt panic ripple up from his spine. "I c-can't go back," he begged in a fierce whisper. "Please, please, I can't."

"You won't. I promise."

And he believed her.

She quickened their pace slightly. They were almost out of the city. The anticipation of their departure and the threat of discovery gave Alistair a burst of energy, and he began to bear some of his own weight. They crossed the Marketplace and were just nearing the Chantry when they heard shouts behind them.

"Run!" she grunted, throwing him ahead of her. She drew her bow and launched two arrows at once towards their pursuers.

Alistair did his best to do so, his heart hammering in his chest. But his feet kept faltering beneath him as he struggled to keep upright. The woman caught up with him and hauled him along, and it was perhaps by sheer force of will that they remained on their feet.

They burst through the city gates, turning past the well-worn road, instead heading towards the nearby forest. She pulled him through the trees until they were cast in near total darkness as the leaves above shielded them from the moonlight.

"We can rest here a bit," she said, her heavy breaths muffled by her scarf.

She leaned him against a tree, and he sank to the ground, utterly spent. He couldn't remember ever being so exhausted.

They sat together in silence. She seemed to be listening for the city guard, to see if they had been followed. He listened too, feeling on edge, jumping at the slightest noise.

Soon, however, his exhaustion got the better of him, and he found himself drifting off to sleep. "Sorry," he murmured after slumping against the woman.

"It's okay," she assured him. "We still have a little ways to go before we reach safety, but you can sleep a moment. I'll watch over you."

"Thank you," he told her, feeling that the words were just not enough. But he could not think of how else to express the wealth of gratitude he felt in that moment. "Thank you…"

o.O.o

Alistair awoke to someone gently shaking his shoulder. At first, he was confused, unable to remember where he was or who could possibly be with him. He could see almost nothing in the darkness, and if it wasn't for the firm squeeze of hands on his shoulders, he would have thought he was back in his cell.

"I'm sorry to wake you," a muffled voice came from beside him. "But we should get moving before the sun rises."

He felt the presence of the woman beside him and sighed in relief. "You're real? It wasn't a dream?"

"No, not a dream," she assured him and helped him to his feet. His muscles protested, and he slumped back against the tree behind him.

"I don't…" Alistair panted. "I don't think I can walk."

"I thought you might not be able to, so I called for help." She slung him across her shoulders once more and pulled him a few paces away. "Hold out your hand," she instructed.

He did as he was told and he touched something soft… and living.

"Don't be frightened," she said soothingly. "It's a halla. She can carry you to camp. It's about an hour's walk from here." She helped him onto the creature's back and held him steady. "I'm sorry, but without clothes, I'm afraid you might find the ride a little uncomfortable."

Alistair gave an incredulous, mirthless bark of a laugh. That anyone would care for his comfort… The concept was too ridiculous to be believed. "I'm used to uncomfortable," he told her.

She said nothing in response, but merely clicked her tongue. The halla began to move, and they walked carefully through the dark forest.

"Can you even see?" Alistair wondered aloud.

"Only a little," she replied. "But I know this forest well. We'll be fine."

They traveled in a comfortable silence. Alistair slumped against the animal's back, drifting off into moments of sleep. He suspected the only reason he was able to stay on the halla at all was because of the woman's steadying grip on him.

Time was lost in his bouts of sleep, and before he knew it, they had reached what he guessed to be the woman's campsite. There was a single Dalish landship beside a pit for a fire. Another halla stood nearby, apparently asleep. There was a large tub beside the landship, and he could hear the gurgle of a stream somewhere beyond it.

She helped him dismount from the halla's back and led him to stand beside the fire pit. She then started a fire going, setting a kettle over it and stones for the tub beside it. The clearing soon filled with a warm, flickering light.

Alistair's legs quickly lost whatever strength they had within them, and he fell to his knees beside the too-bright fire. The light hurt his eyes, but it was such a gloriously good hurt, because it meant he wasn't alone in the dark anymore. The realization suddenly hit him, as he looked up at the stars – _Stars!_ – that he was _outside_ , and he was overcome with hysterical gratitude. Words suddenly poured out of him in a deluge. "Thank you, thank you… Oh Maker, I-I can't thank you enough! I didn't think… Oh, thank you…" He looked up at her, shielding his eyes from the firelight. She was a Dalish elf – she had to be. The halla and landship told him that much. But there had only ever been one Dalish elf who cared about him at all… "But who are you? Why would you…" He paused, searching for the word, nearly forgotten. "…risk so much to save me?"

The small woman sat down beside him. "The answer is simple," she said, pulling the hood and scarf from her face. Pointed ears and chestnut hair sprang free from the hood. "I love you." She gave him a tentative smile around a shuddering breath. "Hello, _emma lath_."

Tangerine.

Alistair recoiled from her as his eyes erupted in tears. "Is… is this the Fade?" he stammered, his whole body suddenly shaking. "Am I f-finally dead?"

"What? No!" she exclaimed, horrorstruck.

"Please…" His hands found tendrils of his hair beneath the hood of the cloak, pulling until it hurt. "Please, tell me I'm dead."

She shook her head vehemently. "No! You're not dead!"

Alistair's face screwed up in anguish. "Then how can you be here?!" he cried.

"Alistair…"

There was no air. All this open space, and why was there no air? "You're _dead_ , Tangi! You're supposed to be dead!"

"But I'm fine! Look." Tangi reached out to him, but he backed away from her, shaking his head.

"Anora said you were dead. She said you died killing the archdemon!" His eyes were wild, tears streaming down his face, cutting rivulets in the dirt caked there. "She said you were dead! And I believed her!"

"She lied to you," Tangi said gently. Tears fell from her own eyes. "It's… complicated. But I wasn't the one who took the killing blow." She approached him again, and this time, he did not draw away from her.

"I thought… I thought I'd never see you again, that I'd be there until I died at last," he rambled. "I've been so _alone_."

She gathered him into her arms and held him as he trembled. "I'm sorry, Alistair. I am so, so sorry. I'm here now."

They sat there for a time, with nothing to break the silence save the crackling of the campfire. She rocked him slowly, like a mother rocking a child, lulling him into a comfortable drowsiness.

"You… you shouldn't be so close," Alistair murmured, feeling suddenly ashamed of himself. "I'm filthy."

Instead of pulling away, Tangi hugged him tighter. "What makes you think I would care about something like that?" she said, her tone heavy with sadness. "I finally have you back. Nothing could be more important."

Alistair breathed in her scent, like the smell of the first Spring rain, and a flood of memory and emotion filled him. "Oh, dear Maker, how I've missed you…"

"And I, you, _emma lath_."


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've had most of this written for a long time (since before this was published actually), but it has gone through a lot of editing because I wasn't happy with it. I'm still not happy with it, but I figured it was about time I posted it. Sorry for the wait if you've been following this story/version, and please accept this paltry offering of a chapter.

When Alistair awoke, he was again taken by a momentary confusion. There was sky, grayish orange in the early dawn, and warmth from a fire. The air was crisp and cool, but he did not feel cold at all. No stone. No bars. He sat up sharply, a soft woolen blanket falling from his shoulders. No stone! No bars! Everything was so _open_ and maybe the dwarves were right and he'd fall right up into that gaping sky. His breath came in short gasps. Not enough air, or maybe too much, but whatever it was, he couldn't _breathe_.

A soft hand touched his, and he flinched. He looked up into a pair of warm, blue-green eyes. "Easy, _emma lath_. It's okay. You're safe."

He stared at her, his panicked mind unable to comprehend. "But… you're here…"

Tangi nodded. "I am. And you're here with me."

"But…" His eyes darted around the camp. "I was dreaming. I know I was dreaming b-because you were here and you can't be."

She shook her head slowly, taking his hands into hers. "No, beloved. This is real."

It was his turn to shake his head. "No, no, no." He curled into himself, but he could not bring himself to pull his hands away from her. Dream or not, he hungered for her touch. "I'll wake up in my cell, and I'll be alone again, and I don't want good dreams if it means waking up there and losing you again…"

Tangi released his hands, and he whimpered with the loss of them. Instead, she spread her arms wide in gentle invitation. "Is… is it all right if I hold you?"

Alistair let out a shuddering sigh and nodded.

She pulled him into her arms as she had the night before, stroking his hair to soothe him. "Just breathe, Alistair. It's okay, it's okay." She pressed several light kisses to his temple. "I know it doesn't feel like it right now, but I swear to you this is real."

And Alistair believed her. Tangerine would never lie to him.

It was some time before his breathing calmed. He pulled away from her; the idea of being so close to someone was suddenly too much to comprehend. "I… I think I'm all right now," he said, a slight tremor still in his voice. "I'm sorry. It's just… A lot's happened, and…" He floundered, unable to find the words. He wiped at his eyes that burned and watered from the light of the fire.

She nodded. "It's overwhelming. I know. I can't imagine how it must feel for you. But take your time." She considered him for a moment. "The fire is too bright for you, isn't it. Do you want a handkerchief to cover your eyes?"

He shook his head. "I… no, I want… I want to see you."

"Okay, but let me know if it gets to be too much for you." She got to her feet.

Alistair looked up at her in alarm. "Where are you going?"

Tangi gave him a reassuring smile. "Don't worry. I'll just be on the other side of the fire, making breakfast."

He relaxed and nodded, feeling a flush of excitement at the prospect of food.

While Tangi was busy with cooking, he looked down at himself and found that, sometime while he slept, he had been scrubbed clean once more, and clothed as well. It was a strange feeling, to be wearing clothes after so long going without. He shifted in the light linen garments, unused to both the warmth they provided and the pull of the cloth as he moved. It was strange. The clothes were only fabric and thread, but in wearing them, he felt… almost human again.

Though Tangi had assured him many times now that it wasn't a dream, Alistair still felt like a ghost, lingering in a world where he no longer belonged. Alistair recalled mornings just like this, waking by a campfire with Tangerine preparing breakfast and tea. Mornings that seemed a lifetime ago. He looked at the pot with interest, the smells emanating from it making his mouth water.

"Give this a try," Tangi said, spooning the contents of the pot into a bowl. "I meant to make some for you when we got back, but you fell asleep, and I hadn't the heart to wake you." She stood and crossed around the campfire to him. "It's… kind of like a soup. It's made from ground almonds and halla's milk." She handed the bowl to him. "Try not to drink it too fast. There's plenty."

Despite her word of caution, Alistair gulped down the warm soup almost as soon as the bowl reached his fingertips. The soup was a marvel. Even when he was relatively well-fed while servicing Anora, the food was never hot or freshly cooked. It went down smoothly, warming his insides.

"Do you like it?" she asked, her voice soft, barely above a whisper.

He nodded, and held out the bowl to her.

"I'll get you another bowl in a minute. Let that one settle."

He nodded again, though he desperately wanted to eat more right that second. As always when he had something to eat, the Grey Warden hunger roared to life and gnawed painfully at his insides. He licked his lips to savor the few drops that still remained there. "It's… sweet."

Tangi nodded. "I added some honey and nutmeg for flavor. It's pretty bland otherwise. There's a bit of elfroot in it too, to help you heal." She went to retrieve the pot and brought it over to refill his bowl. "It's supposed to be easier on your stomach, while giving your body the nourishment it craves. Our clan used to make it for some of the city elves who took refuge with us. The Keeper said their stomachs were so used to starving, they didn't know what to do with food when they got it." Her face was drawn and sad when she handed the bowl to him.

He greedily slurped down the soup and she refilled it again, making him wait a few moments between each bowl. Soon the large pot was nearly empty, and his stomach was full.

Alistair realized she had been watching him eat, and he looked up at her shyly.

"Do you feel a little better?"

He wasn't hungry anymore. That in itself was more than he could have hoped for not even a day ago. "Maker, yes," he sighed.

She gave him a thin smile. "I'm glad." She prepared the last bowlful of soup for herself and sipped quietly.

It wasn't enough. He wanted to hear more from her. Months of solitude, over a year thinking she was dead… Her words were like the honeyed soup, sweet and nourishing. "Thank you," he told her earnestly. "Thank you so much for everything. For the food, for cleaning me up. For the rescue most of all."

"I couldn't just leave you there, _emma lath_. I… I came as soon as I could." She sighed. "I only wish I could have come sooner."

"How did you even know I was alive?"

Tangi got to her feet. "I'll tell you about it while we travel. We're a good distance from the city, but we shouldn't linger. Once Anora finds out that you're the prisoner who escaped, she will not rest until you're found."

Alistair nodded, feeling a chill down his spine. He tried to get up as well, but cried out when his legs seized with pain. Tangi ran to his side. "I don't… I don't think I can stand," he told her, clutching at one of his thighs.

Her mouth thinned to a line as she looked him over. "It's all the running we did last night," she muttered, almost to herself. "Your legs had been chained up like that since you were taken?"

He nodded.

"I shouldn't have pushed you so hard. I'm sorry, Alistair."

In the time before his imprisonment, Alistair would have rushed to tell her that she was being silly, that she did what she had to do, that they never would have escaped if she hadn't pushed him. But even though he wanted to reassure her, he could not find the words, and the moment had passed.

Tangi slung his arm over her shoulders and scooped him up into her arms. He felt a blush creep up his neck to his ears at the closeness of her. He studied her face, trying to imprint her features into his mind once more, to replace the perpetual image of her terrified eyes at the Landsmeet. He was surprised to see unshed tears in the corners of her eyes. "What's wrong?" he asked after a moment.

She took him to the head of the _aravel_ , and pushed him up onto the driver's bench. "Nothing," she said in a tiny voice. "Just… you're a lot lighter than you used to be." She gave him a smile, but it did not touch her eyes. "Will you be all right out here? Would you rather travel inside the _aravel_? I imagine it's a little overwhelming being out in the open."

Alistair swallowed, reminded of the now pale blue sky above them. "It is, but… I don't… I can't…" He cursed inwardly, hating how stagnant his mind had become. She waited patiently for him to finish. "I don't want to be alone," he whimpered.

She nodded. "Don't worry. I'll always be nearby. There are just a few things I need to do before we can leave."

He waited while she broke down the camp and hitched the halla to the _aravel_. It did not take long before Tangi climbed up onto the bench next to him and whistled to the halla to be on their way.


	14. Chapter 14

The _aravel_ wove through the trees, shuddering and creaking as it rolled over the uneven forest floor. The ride was surprisingly smooth, not jostling as one might expect from a wagon rolling across an unpaved road. The landship swayed and rolled as if upon waves. Alistair watched the trees go by for a moment before his head swam with dizziness. He tried to focus on Tangi, the only solid thing in a sea of motion. It was a few moments before she spoke. "You asked how I knew you were alive," she began. Her voice sounded hollow, almost empty. "But I didn't. I suspected, I hoped… but I never knew for sure."

o.O.o

Tangerine watched as the doors closed behind Alistair and his outstretched hands. Her right shoulder felt as if it were screaming in pain. Thick blood dripped down her arm beneath her platemail. She squared her shoulders as best she could, gritting her teeth through the pain. "Queen Anora, please," she called out in a ringing voice. Her head buzzed from blood loss. She tried to ignore it. "You cannot do this. You can't execute Alistair."

Anora gave a smile, confident in victory. "No? Can I not execute a traitor for treason?"

Tangerine glared. "Why him, then? Why only him? Wear the wool over your eyes if you must. Blame the Wardens for what happened at Ostagar, as you seem determined to do so. But he is under _my_ command. Let me take the blame."

The queen's smile never faltered. "Alistair is the senior Warden."

"He defers to me."

Anora's eyes dipped for a moment, as if making a quick appraisal. "I'm sure he does," she said with a breath of laughter. "Still, even if the blame falls more on your shoulders than on his, you are obviously the more capable Warden. With the Blight coming, we still need you. Otherwise, I'd execute you both."

"The Blight is already here!" Tangerine cried, incredulous that she still had to argue this point. "And how should I fight it alone? When you are intent on killing my only Warden companion?"

"You have Riordan."

"Wonderful." It was difficult for Tangerine to hold back the acid in her tone. "Two against a horde. Victory is assured."

"You'll have three, Warden," a gravelly voice intoned beside her.

Tangerine looked up. Loghain stood over her, sincere determination in his eyes.

Anora looked startled. "Father, no! What are you doing?"

Loghain looked up towards his daughter on the dais. "What I must to protect Ferelden, Anora. I have helped you remain on the throne as you should be. You will do your duty to our beloved country here. I must now do what I can against these wretched darkspawn."

Tangerine gaped at him. "You believe us _now_? You believe the darkspawn to be a threat _now_?" She shook her head and turned back to Anora. "We can argue about that later. I am begging you, Your Majesty, to spare Alistair's life. Whether your father joins us or not, there are not enough of us."

Anora sighed. "And I am telling you no. I will not. If you continue this any further, Warden, I will have you escorted from the hall by force."

"At least let me attend the execution, then!" Tangerine cried. "Please, Anora, you must let me see him. He shouldn't have to die alone. Please!"

"You'll find I am no longer inclined to listen to you, Warden." The queen waved at the guards.

A wall of armored men closed in around Tangerine. She glanced over at Leliana and Wynne, who were injured and surrounded as well. Desperation bubbled like bile in her throat. "Please!" Tangerine shouted back at Anora. "Please let me go to the execution! I need to see him! I don't want him to die alone! Anora!"

She managed to push back at some of the guards, but without her sword or use of her arm, all her efforts were useless. They threw her and her companions outside the Landsmeet doors before shutting and barring the doors behind them.

She tried to get to her feet, but failed. Her rush of adrenaline had gone, leaving her limp and pale from the blood now seeping through the chinks of her armor. Wynne rushed to her side.

Tangerine barely felt the tingling cold of healing magic on her shoulder. It was difficult to feel anything at all. "I failed him, Wynne."

Wynne didn't meet her eyes, concentrating instead on closing the wound. "We all did," she whispered.

o.O.o

Tangerine remained in her quarters at Eamon's estate for the next few days, letting no one near her except her mabari, Satsuma. She especially avoided Eamon, whom she blamed for Alistair's execution at least as much as she blamed herself. She scratched Satsuma behind the ears and stared out the window. She was dressed in an old set of Dalish leather armor. The supple leather was comforting in a way, reminding her of Master Ilen and her clan and home. She met Alistair in this armor.

A knock came at the door. When she didn't answer, a voice called out for her. "Sister?" It was Riordan. "I'm told you are in there."

"Enter if you must," Tangerine said.

She heard the door open and two sets of footsteps come in. Satsuma got to his feet and growled, his hackles rising. "Satsuma," she said, turning. "What—"

Behind Riordan stood Loghain Mac Tir.

Tangerine rose to her feet, her hand reaching for the greatsword leaning against the wall.

Riordan held up his hands to placate her. "Easy, Mahariel. Put the sword down. Loghain wishes to become our brother."

She kept her hands on the sword. "That _shem_ is no brother of mine," she growled.

"The Teyrn is a warrior and general of renown," Riordan said. "Let him be of use. Let him go through the Joining. There are two of us in all of Ferelden. And there are… compelling reasons to have as many Wardens on hand as possible to deal with the Archdemon."

Here in her own quarters, Tangerine had no reason to keep her bitterness at bay. "There would have been three, if not for this man and his daughter."

"Warden," Loghain spoke up. "It's unfortunate that—"

Tangerine rounded on him. "Not another word, _shemlen_ , or I will end you right here." She gritted her teeth and lowered her sword. "Do what you must, Riordan. Let him take the Joining for all I care. But he's yours. He will not travel with me."

Riordan frowned. "There is much I must do before the darkspawn reach Redcliffe. It will be difficult if I have a new recruit with me."

"That's your concern." Tangerine finally set the sword down and sat back down beside the window. "His daughter murdered the man I love. If you leave him with me, we might just be the only two Wardens again."

Riordan sighed. "I understand."

"Good. Now get out."

Satsuma didn't stop growling until the two men had left and the door had closed. He padded back to Tangerine who hugged him around the neck. "Go get the others, boy," she said after a time. "I'm tired of Denerim."

o.O.o

High upon Fort Drakon, the archdemon was wearing down. Its head sagged as it floundered drunkenly across the flagstones. Tangerine took a deep breath and tightened her grip on her sword. She slashed at the beast, flinging herself atop the dragon's bucking head. It reared up and threw her wildly, even as she struck again and again at its head and neck. It tossed her into the air, but she twisted in a graceful arc to land her sword squarely upon its crown. It threw its head back one last time. Tangerine struck it again, then rolled off its head, landing safely on the stone floor.

The archdemon was all but dead now. All it would take was the final killing blow. Tangerine felt a strange calm come over her. Alistair was waiting.

"So," Loghain's voice said from behind her. "It is done."

She turned slowly to face him. "It is," she agreed.

"There's no need for you to take the final blow." His voice was almost gentle, kind. "Allow me. Isn't this why I'm here?"

Tangerine raised an eyebrow at him. "You're here because Riordan willed it. Not me."

"Perhaps," he said. "But you could have stopped him. Somehow, you knew it would come to this."

She didn't answer. Instead, she glanced over her shoulder at the dragon. Its chest heaved as it choked out its remaining breaths.

"You wish to join him."

Tangerine didn't have to ask who he meant. "No," she murmured. "I wished for him to be here with me."

Loghain sighed. "For what it's worth, I am sorry about Alistair. Anora… hasn't been the same since Cailan's death. It hit her hard, and the fact that I was involved as well…"

Tangerine raised her eyes to meet his. If she didn't know any better, she would have thought he was remorseful. He sounded so sincere.

"I thought all along that only I could save Ferelden, but it was you," Loghain continued, his voice resolved. "You're the reason this creature lies defeated, not I. You shouldn't be the one to die." His proud eyes begged her, even before he said the words. "Please, I've done… so much wrong. Allow me to do one last thing right."

For a moment, Tangerine saw the man who had once been the Hero of River Dane. And in that moment, she pitied him. Though she wasn't sure he deserved it – if Alistair had been here, he probably would have said he didn't – but she thought that maybe everyone who wants redemption should be allowed it. She bit her lip and nodded. "Do it, then," she told him.

Loghain gave her a small smile before running past her. She turned to watch as he cut the dragon from stem to stern, ending with a mighty cry as he plunged his sword deep into the archdemon's head.

Tangerine bowed her head and closed her eyes against the column of light that burst from the dragon. _I'm sorry,_ emma lath _. You will have to wait a little longer._

o.O.o

"My friends, we are gathered to celebrate those responsible for our victory."

Tangerine looked up at the dais where Anora stood. She tuned the queen out, concentrating instead on keeping the daggers of her anger and hatred buried under a placid face. For what she wanted – for what she needed – she must be civil. She only just managed to catch her cue. She began up the steps.

"Ladies and gentlemen," Anora continued, "I present the Hero of Ferelden, the first Grey Warden to defeat the Blight since Garahel four centuries ago." The crowd cheered. She gave a smile Tangerine knew better than to think was genuine.

"Grey Warden," the queen said to Tangerine. "It is hard to imagine how you could have aided Ferelden more. I think it only appropriate that I return the favor. Is there any boon you would request of Ferelden's queen?"

Arl Eamon had coached her before the ceremony. She was meant to ask for riches or a title, a position of leadership or something for her fellow Dalish. Tangerine had other ideas.

"Yes, Your Majesty," Tangerine replied in a ringing voice. "I only ask that the body of my fellow Grey Warden, Alistair Theirin, be returned to me so that he may be buried with dignity."

An uneasy chatter rose up from the gathered nobility, but Tangerine's attention never wavered from Anora. The queen paled visibly as she took a sharp intake of breath.

"I…" Tangerine could see the queen's mind working fast, to save face in front of the nobles. "I apologize, Warden, but I cannot give you what you ask."

"Why not?" Tangerine's tone was even, but inside she raged. "It costs you and the kingdom nothing. What does it matter to you what is done to his body?"

Anora gathered herself, regaining her composure. "Alistair was a traitor to the crown."

"As was your father, by his own admission. And yet, he gets a hero's burial."

"My father gave his life for Ferelden," Anora said calmly, though her eyes glared down at the Dalish elf with obvious venom.

Tangerine crossed her arms over her chest. "So did Alistair."

The queen drew herself up. Tangerine could see that her patience was at an end. "Your answer is still no, Warden. That is final." Anora gave a smile that did not touch her eyes. "But the crown is still not without gratitude for your great deeds. Let it be known," she said, her voice echoing throughout the chamber, "that the arling of Amaranthine, once the land of Arl Howe, is now granted to the Grey Wardens. There, they can rebuild, following the example of those who went before them." She regarded Tangerine once more. "There is a group of eager Ferelden citizens waiting outside to get a look at their… hero."

Tangerine caught the note of derision the queen gave the last word, even if no one else did.

As Tangerine descended from the dais, Arl Eamon cut her off and pulled her aside by the arm. "Are you mad?" he hissed at her. "I _told_ you what to ask for! What you did was completely inappropriate!"

"No," she spat back at him in a low tone. "What's inappropriate, Eamon, is that you allowed a man who thought of you as a father to be killed for no reason, and without a single word of protest! What's inappropriate is that you think that being _tactful_ is more important than giving Alistair a burial in a marked grave!" She wrenched her arm away from him. "You sicken me."

Tangerine stalked away, waiting a moment to calm herself before approaching her friends to say goodbye.

o.O.o

After the celebrations, Tangerine walked back to the Gnawed Noble with Leliana and Wynne. Both of the women were expected to leave early the next morning, going their separate ways. Not for the first time, Tangerine wished Morrigan were still with them. Though Morrigan could hardly be called a comforting presence, Tangerine missed her best friend's candor and insight.

"Is everything all right, Tangi?"

Tangerine started. Though it was clearly Leliana's voice asking the question, Tangerine associated the nickname with Alistair so strongly that she felt sure he was calling for her every time she heard it. "Don't call me that. And yes, I'm fine." She paused and sighed. "No, I'm not. Something's bothering me."

Wynne put a hand on her shoulder. "What is it, child?"

All day, Tangerine had been mulling over her exchange with Anora in her mind. "It's Anora. I think she's hiding something."

She caught Wynne and Leliana exchange furtive looks over her head. "Hiding something?" Leliana repeated.

It was a ridiculous idea. Still, if there was a possibility… Tangerine took a deep breath before going on. "I think… You're going to think I'm crazy, but I think Alistair might not have been executed like she said he was."

"Tangi…"

"Don't call me that. And, just hear me out." Tangerine lowered her voice. "Why would Anora deny giving me Alistair's body? If she really wanted to save face in front of the nobles, why wouldn't she just agree and be done with it? It was obvious she was trying to avoid a scene, but instead of placating me and getting rid of me, she let me argue with her in front of hundreds of people."

Wynne frowned. "Perhaps she was just startled? It was a rather odd request."

"And he was killed weeks ago," Leliana added. "Maybe he would be hard to find? Or already cremated?"

Tangerine shook her head. "I thought of those things. I mean, maybe she was just startled, like you say, Wynne. But I was watching her the whole time. She recovered quickly. And if he would be hard to find, I would have offered to look for him myself. Or she could have gotten a servant or one of her useless guards to do it. That's no trouble for her. And if he was already cremated, why not just say so?"

"Perhaps she denied you just to spite you," Leliana said. "The queen does not like you much, I think."

"No, she doesn't," Tangerine agreed.

"Don't you think that's more likely, then?" Wynne asked.

Tangerine sighed and had to admit that it did seem probable that the queen refused her out of spite. There was a long silence before she spoke again. "But I just get this feeling from her… I know it sounds insane, but I still feel like she's hiding _something_."

Leliana shook her head sadly. "Tangi, you think—"

"Stop calling me that!" Tangerine shouted, her voice breaking.

The three of them stopped to a halt.

"Yes, all right," Leliana said in a stunned whisper. "But why?"

" _He_ was the one who gave me that nickname!" Tangerine cried. "And I hated it at first, but he kept calling me that to tease me. And he kept doing it until I didn't hate it anymore, and it was suddenly cute and endearing and…" She wiped at her eyes. She couldn't remember them filling with tears. "And now every time I hear it, I think of him. In the back of my mind, I hear him calling for me. And it _hurts_." She faced Leliana, who looked down at her with her own watery eyes. "So I'm sorry for yelling," Tangerine told her, "and I'm sorry for taking this out on you. But please don't call me that ever again. I don't want to hear that name if I can't hear him be the one to say it."

Leliana pulled her into a tight embrace. Tangerine wept into the hollow of her shoulder even as she felt Leliana's tears fall into her hair. Wynne placed a gentle arm around her shoulders as well, making slow stroking motions with her hand.

After a long silence, Wynne spoke in a soft whisper. "This is the first time you've cried since the Landsmeet, you know. That's good. It means you're coming to terms with it. I don't think you've had the chance to do so until now."

Leliana offered Tangerine a handkerchief. The elf took it and dabbed at her face. "You think I've been in denial, Wynne?" Tangerine asked.

Wynne smiled. "It's possible. If you've been having trouble accepting his death, that may be why you think Anora is hiding something."

Tangerine frowned. "Maybe."

Leliana tugged on their arms. "Come. It is late, and our dear Warden could use some much deserved rest. Maybe Wynne and I could leave a little later tomorrow? We could have a nice, elegant breakfast at the inn together. I'm sure they can serve something wonderful for the Hero of Ferelden and her friends!"

Tangerine gave a shaky laugh. "I'd like that."

Wynne nodded. "I would as well."

"Excellent! Our soft beds await us!"

As Leliana pulled her along the streets of Denerim, Tangerine still felt uneasy. Try as she might, she could not shake the persistent feeling that Alistair was calling her name.


	15. Chapter 15

The threat of darkspawn in Amaranthine distracted Tangerine for a time. She poured herself into her new duties as Commander of the Grey, finding it easier to pretend she felt normal when there were demons to slay and political intrigues to manipulate. Still, there were days when she heard the clang of a sword upon a would turn, expecting Alistair, only to find Justice at her back. Or she would hear the punch line of a joke and easy laughter filling the hall. She would race to find the source, only to run into Anders chatting with Oghren or Sigrun. And every time she recruited someone new, she watched Seneschal Varel speak the words of initiation. She watched, but heard Alistair's voice as he spoke those words at her Joining instead. _Join us, brothers and sisters. Join us…_

Finally, by the time Amaranthine was saved and repairs on Vigil's Keep were underway, Tangerine had come to a decision.

"You're sure you won't change your mind?" Nathaniel asked her on her last day at the Keep.

Tangerine looked up from packing and smiled at her friend. "You make it sound like I'm never coming back." She shoved Satsuma aside. He had been lying on her Dalish leathers.

"Aren't you?"

"I'll be here for the important things," she assured him. "I am still the Warden Commander. But someone has to look for new recruits. There can't just be the seven of us in all of Ferelden. From what I understand, Duncan used to do this sort of thing all the time."

He leaned against her doorframe and crossed his arms. "That isn't why you're leaving, and you know it. _We_ know it."

Tangerine set down the bundle of dried elfroot she was packing. "Have you guys been gossiping about me?" she teased.

Nathaniel was all seriousness as usual. "We're worried about you. You are our sister, our leader. More importantly, you're our friend."

"I appreciate that. I do." She patted him on the arm and resumed packing. "But I spent most of my time as a Warden with Alistair. It's hard to be doing these things every day and thinking about him every other minute." She carefully placed the final item in her backpack, a small box made of maple. She brushed delicate fingers across the top before tucking it beside her heavy cloak. "It's been almost a year since he died. And in that time, I haven't really had the chance to sort things out. I've been too preoccupied defeating the darkspawn. Twice."

He gave a small smile. "Yes, you have been busy."

Tangerine sighed. "I just need a little time. That's all."

He bent to give her a brief hug. "So long as that's all you need. For anything else, we'll be here. Just say the word."

" _Ma serannas_ , _lethallin_." She closed the backpack and slung it over her shoulder. "You all have been so good to me. I swear I'll be in touch soon."

Nathaniel stepped aside to let her and Satsuma pass. "You'd better," he told her. "Take care of yourself, Commander. I hope you find what you're looking for."

Tangerine looked up at him and nodded. "Me too." With that, she walked to the main hall, where the others waited to say their goodbyes.

o.O.o

Alistair listened to Tangi's story with rapt attention. He felt an overwhelming desire to take her hand in his, but after so long apart, he felt shy and even a little scared at the boldness of such a gesture. He was so genuinely touched by her willingness to be with him in his final moments, to send him off from this world with dignity. And as much as he wished for her to be happy, it was somehow comforting to know that while he suffered the pain of her loss, she had been mourning him as well. He wanted to thank her again, but the words seemed ineffectual and empty of all the love and emotion he felt for her.

"I traveled Ferelden for months," she continued. "Requests for my help led me into the farthest reaches of the Deep Roads, or back to Ostagar to aid in construction of the settlement there."

Alistair frowned in confusion.

"The Dalish were given Ostagar as thanks for our help with the Blight; that's where I got this _aravel_ and the halla," she explained. "Anyway, after leaving Ostagar, I did actually look for new recruits and send them to Amaranthine. But in all that time, I could never shake the feeling that something was wrong with your supposed death."

o.O.o

"This looks to be the place, Satsuma," Tangerine said, smiling at her mabari's wagging tail of a reply. She checked the location on her map then pounded on the door of a farmhouse. From a hilltop a few miles away, the walls of Highever stood majestic, its bold blue flags flapping from every parapet. It was hard to believe that the city was in virtual ruins only two years ago.

Tangerine was about to knock again when a wizened old woman opened the door.

"What do you want?" the old woman snapped.

Tangerine gave a short bow. "I'm sorry to disturb you, good woman. I need to speak to Warrick Fell. I'm told he lives here."

The woman frowned and turned to call over her shoulder. "Warrick! Some elf in fancy armor here to see ye!"

As Tangerine waited, she could hear the _shuffle-tap shuffle-tap_ of the man's approach. He opened the door wider, leaning heavily on a crutch. "What do you want?" he asked, echoing the older woman. "I ain't expectin' no messages."

Tangerine bowed again. "I'm not a messenger, ser. I'm a Grey Warden."

"Didn't think so," Warrick grunted. "Messengers don't often have them funny tattoos, do they?"

She resisted the urge to roll her eyes. "Ser, I'm wondering, are you the same Warrick Fell who served as record keeper for Fort Drakon in Denerim two years ago?"

Warrick frowned. "Yeah, that's me. But there were more than just me workin' as record keeper."

Tangerine nodded. "Yes, I'm aware of that," she said. "But you were working the day of the Landsmeet, yes?"

"Yeah, busy day, it was." His tone was conversational, but his eyes narrowed.

"I'm trying to find out what happened to a… friend of mine," Tangerine continued. "They told me he was executed shortly after the Landsmeet. That they didn't even wait until dawn the next day. Does any of this sound familiar?"

"Can't say that it does," he replied. "If ye're wonderin' about executions, shouldn't you be askin' an executioner?"

Tangerine sighed. "I've _tried_. The executioner on duty that day died in the Battle of Denerim."

"Oh, I remember him. Got his head bashed in." Warrick shrugged. "Fort Drakon did get hard hit by them darkspawn. How do ye think I got my leg all broke up like this?"

"Please," she pleaded. "Do you remember anything at all? He wasn't any ordinary prisoner. He was a Grey Warden. Queen Anora accused him of treason. He was the illegitimate son of King Maric."

Warrick paused for a moment. "Y'know, I think I do remember hearin' about some bastard prince comin' through. But like ye said, they told us he was executed same day."

Tangerine felt her heart sink in her chest. "Oh. I see."

"Funny thing, though," he went on. "I don't remember ever seein' no papers."

She blinked at him. "Papers?"

Warrick nodded. "We had records on all the executions goin' on. So we'd have proof they deserved it, see? Well, we had records on everythin'. But the ones for executin', them's rare. Not every day some poor sod gets offed." He bit his lip as he was thinking. "Though, her Majesty and the Teyrn were pushing lots of things through without papers round then. Things were a bit of a jumble after the King died. Talks of civil war and such."

Tangerine stared at him for a moment, her brow furrowed, lost in contemplation.

Warrick shifted under her scrutiny. "That it, then?"

She blinked, roused from her thoughts. "Yes, thank you. You've been very helpful."

He nodded and, without another word, shut the door.

Tangerine and Satsuma turned and walked in silence back toward the clearing where they left the _aravel_. "It's not much to go on, is it, boy?" she said in a soft tone. "A feeling and unfiled papers?"

Satsuma looked up at her questioningly.

"I've been without him longer than I knew him, you know that? And it still hurts." She looked up at the gray sky and its haze of clouds. "I don't really know what I'm doing."

Whimpering, Satsuma nudged her hand with his nose.

Without looking down, she scratched behind his ears. "You're worried about me too, huh? That's fair. But I think it's time I went to Denerim. I don't know what I'm looking for, but I don't think I can let this go. Not until I know for sure."

o.O.o

Tangerine sprinted through the streets of Denerim, light on her feet despite her platemail. Satsuma ran ahead of her, biting and snarling at the heels of a criminal Sergeant Kylon had charged them with apprehending. They broke off the main boulevard into the back alleys. The thief hopped over homeless beggars and rotted fences alike. Tangerine wondered if perhaps their prey was lost. He was headed straight for Fort Drakon.

He made a wrong turn. The alleyway was a dead end, bordered on one side by the towering prison's stone wall and the city wall on another.

Tangerine shifted uncomfortably in her armor, the sweat from their run making her back itch. "You really didn't think that one through, did you?" she said to the thief. She gestured to Satsuma who happily bowled the thief over and pinned him to the ground.

She smiled and patted the mabari's head before tying the thief's hands with rope. She shifted again. "I'll have to tell Kylon that I'm charging extra for…" she trailed off, realizing that her back didn't just itch, it tingled.

Tangerine frowned. "Darkspawn?" She looked around, her eyes darting from one corner of the dark alleyway to the other. She loped to the other end, where one alley intersected the other, but the farther from the dead end she got, the weaker the tingling sensation became. She walked back to the thief and her mabari. Though the sensation was growing stronger, it was still quite faint. "It's almost as if it were coming from Fort Drakon," she muttered under her breath. "But we cleared out all the darkspawn from there years ago…"

She gave a soft gasp. "A Grey Warden…" She brushed her fingertips along the stone wall. _It can't be, it can't be_ … Her heart quickened as her mind raced through a catalog of Wardens she recruited. She had just stopped at Amaranthine on her way to Denerim from Highever. Almost all of the Wardens were there at the Keep; all the others were stationed west at Soldier's Peak. There were no Wardens assigned to Denerim yet. The Warden Base had yet to be rebuilt. There had only been one deserter, and he had gone north to Kirkwall, not south. _I know where all my Wardens are. All but one._

It was difficult to breathe. Her heart hammered now in her chest, so loud that it drowned out her thoughts. She sat on the muddy ground and cradled her head in her hands with her elbows on her knees.

She sat like that for some time until she heard a whine and felt a soft nudge against her hands. She threw her shaking arms around Satsuma, not caring that the thief got to his feet and ran past.

"By the Dread Wolf, what if that's him?" Tangerine whispered brokenly into her dog's fur. "Can it really be? It's been over two years. Oh, gods, what could they have been doing to him?"

After a few moments, she took several steadying breaths. She got to her feet. Satsuma looked up at her with a soft whimper. She took a small sheet of parchment from a pouch at her belt and scratched a message onto it with a bit of coal. After rolling it up, she slipped it back into the pouch and detached the pouch from her belt.

"Sorry, boy," she said as she affixed the pouch to Satsuma's collar, "but we're going to have to split up for a while. I can't trust this message to anyone else. Bring this to Lanaya at the Dalish settlement. She needs to know I might be coming with a fugitive."

Satsuma whined again.

"I'll be okay," she told him. "But I need to know. If it's some other Grey Warden, then as Warden Commander, I should know why they've been imprisoned. And if it's Alistair…" Her voice quavered. Her hands clenched into fists. "If it's Alistair, he's been in there far too long. And Anora will have to answer to me."


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short chapter update, but I should be updating again within a few days. Thanks again to everyone who left comments! They're what keeps me writing!

As Tangi's story drew to a close, Alistair watched her face contort into an expression of pain. After some hesitation, he reached out a trembling hand. With feather-light fingers he touched her shoulder, still not quite believing she was really there, but wanting to comfort her all the same.

Tangi turned to him, her eyes shining. "I am so sorry, Alistair," she said fiercely. "I cannot even imagine what these past two years have been like for you. But I will do everything I can to set things right."

He nodded, not knowing what to say in response. "That day… I remember that day. I- I felt you too. The feeling in my s-spine, I mean. I… I don't know how long ago that was." Feeling awkward, he drew his hand away from her shoulder.

"A little over a week." She caught his hand and held it between them. "I would have come right away, but I had to be sure we'd succeed. It wasn't like we've done before, where we just fought our way through. I didn't know where exactly they were keeping you. I didn't know what condition you'd be in when I found you. I couldn't risk that someone would recognize me and blame the Wardens. That's why I covered my face, if you were wondering." She gave a tiny, rueful smile that faded quickly. "I just wanted to be sure that if I did find you, we could get out safely. So I tracked guard movements. Questioned people. Gathered supplies." She stroked his hand with her thumb. "Still, I'm sorry I took even longer."

Alistair shook his head. "I… I couldn't tell the difference." He had meant for the words to be reassuring, but Tangi frowned and looked even sadder instead. He supposed it wasn't the right thing to say.

Silence fell between them. Late morning sunlight cascaded through the trees, brighter than he remembered sunlight ever being. Still, he stared at the trees as they floated past the landship, marveling at the green of the forest in a multitude of shades, the richness of the browns of bark and earth. He had remembered colors, but they had become muted in his rusted memory. He stared until his eyes burned and his head ached, until his vision was filled with afterimages.

Alistair supposed it must be summer. The trees would not be so green otherwise. And even though they traveled south, the air remained warm and comfortable in light clothing. He hadn't thought about the passing of the seasons in a long time. It was strange how much he had forgotten – things, like seasons, that he had always taken for granted before.

When they reached a small clearing, Tangi slowed the halla to a halt. "We'll stop here for a break. We should eat a little something."

Alistair perked up. It had been a long time since he'd had more than one meal a day. That was another thing he had forgotten, that it was normal to eat multiple times a day.

Tangi helped him down from the _aravel_ and set him on the ground nearby. He watched her build a small fire and make more of the soup from that morning. This time, she added a pinch of spice and bits of dried meat to it. As he watched her bustle over the pot, his stomach gave a twinge of hunger.

The soup did not take long to prepare, however, and it wasn't long before Tangerine divvied some out into a bowl for him to eat. She offered him a spoon.

He blinked at it.

"You don't have to use it if you don't want to," Tangi said.

Alistair took it from her. "No, it's okay. I just… I haven't used one in a while."

She nodded but did not say anything.

He looked down at his bowl, feeling self-conscious. It didn't take long for him to finish the contents; he was glad to find that he still knew how to use the spoon, even if he had forgotten that the damned things existed. He handed the bowl back to her so she could refill it. "I'm sorry," he muttered.

Tangi face turned puzzled as she ladled more soup into his bowl. "Sorry? For what?"

He shrugged. "I… I don't know."

She set down the bowls and turned to face him fully. She looked at him, her blue-green eyes soft, waiting patiently for him to speak.

Alistair bit his lip. "I guess… I thought it'd be d-different. Being with you again. It… it hasn't even been a day, and already it feels… wrong." He ran a hand over his short-cropped hair. "That's not the right word… It feels… not right. Not as it should."

"Awkward?" Tangi supplied. "Frustrating?"

He nodded. "Yes. Both of those things."

Tangi smiled, a tiny thing that held both sadness and fondness. "I think it's to be expected, _emma lath_. Two people who have been separated for years can't really expect things to be the same between them, even in the best of circumstances. Being wrongly imprisoned… you must have gone through so much. And I'm sure I've changed a little too. We're not the same people."

"I wish we were," Alistair sighed.

She touched his arm, caressing it in slow strokes. "I do too."

Alistair felt himself blush. Her hand felt warm and comforting. He closed his eyes for a moment, committing the feel of her hand to memory – the rough calluses of her palms from wielding a sword, the delicate arch of each slender finger.

"Are you okay?" She paused. "No, sorry, that's a stupid question. Of course you're not okay."

Alistair opened his eyes to look at her.

"But, I mean, is there anything the matter? You went so still when I touched you…" She pulled her hand away. "Should I not touch you? Sorry, I did it without thinking…"

Alistair's eyes grew wide with alarm, and he shook his head vehemently. "No! Don't… I mean, you should… or you can…" He took a deep breath and tried again. "It's… it's all right. I like it. I… I _want_ you to do those things." His eyes darted away from her warm gaze. "I'm just… not used to it."

A slender hand reached out to hesitantly brush against his temple. "Have you been alone all this time?" she asked in a hushed voice.

"Yes," he whispered. "For the most part."

She rose to her knees and embraced him. His hands came up around her, slowly, slowly. His arms tightened around her until she was pressed flush to his body. He became increasingly aware of how small his arms looked, how small his body felt, even compared to her tiny elven frame. He tried to push aside the embarrassment that rose up in him. He needed to savor this moment.

Maker's breath, but he wanted to kiss her. He'd dreamt of being this close to her, hadn't he? How many times had he cried out for want of it in the darkness of his cell? But if the idea of taking her hand scared him, the mere thought of kissing her was terrifying. He wasn't sure what he was afraid of, but it rendered him frozen nonetheless.

They held each other for a long time. When Tangi finally pulled away, Alistair nearly sighed from the loss of her. "We should finish eating," she suggested. "I think we can travel a few more hours before sunset."

Alistair nodded and took the bowl of soup from her once more. As he ate, even as hungry as he was, he barely tasted the food. All he was aware of was the hammering of his own heart.


	17. Chapter 17

Alistair slept throughout most of the afternoon. His senses were overloaded with stimulation after months of nothing but dim torchlight in a sea of darkness. He sagged beside Tangi on the driver's bench, the soft sway of the landship lulling him into a dreamless slumber.

By the time he woke, Tangi was stopping the halla again. Alistair stretched and looked around. They had arrived at a large clearing in the forest this time. The ground was well-worn, and he could see what looked to be wheel tracks in the hardened earth. There was a fire pit with benches and short stumps of logs as chairs around it. At the far end of the clearing was an empty animal pen with white fences. "This area looks… used," he said.

Tangerine nodded. "This was once a Dalish camp. There are a few of these spread throughout the Brecilian Forest. Our clans would move from one camp to another once every year or two. Sometimes we would need to make a new one, but it was often easier to move into an old one if it was available. My clan stayed at this camp for a short time when I was small. We didn't stay long because this one is so close to Denerim. Sometimes we would run into hunters even this far south."

Alistair glanced around nervously. "Do you think we'll be found?"

"It's unlikely," she assured him. "I don't think we have to worry for just one night, but I'll set up traps to be certain." She set about unhitching the halla. "Would you like to sit by the fire while I set up camp?"

He nodded, and she came around to help him down. His legs still ached, and when he put some of his weight on them, he hissed with pain.

Tangi frowned. "I'll see if there's anything I can do about that later."

She sat him down on a bench beside the fire pit then started on the fire.

Alistair watched her as she bustled about the campsite, setting traps around the perimeter, preparing bedrolls and cooking supper. Not for the first time, he felt as if he were dreaming, or perhaps seeing this scene of normality unfold from afar. In the back of his mind, the part still partially obscured by the haze left from disuse, he knew that he was really there. That trauma and shock had left him unable to connect with what was happening to him. He had seen it in others before. But the knowledge that so much of his life recently had only been pain and heartache made him doubt himself. It was somehow easier to believe that he had finally gone insane.

After supper, Tangi rinsed out the dishes then sat beside him. "The _aravel_ is set up, if you'd rather sleep in there. It's a bit cramped, but-"

"No, no cramped." Alistair shook his head. "Outside is good."

She nodded. "Okay, I just thought I'd offer, in case this was too much for you."

"It is," he admitted. "It is too much. But... better too much than too little."

She nodded again, her eyes gentle with understanding. "Well, um... if you wanted – you don't have to if you don't want to – but would you like to sleep by me tonight?"

A blush crept up from his neck to his ears. "By you?" he repeated.

"Only if you feel comfortable with it," she said. "Or is that _really_ too much?"

The corners of his mouth lifted ever so slightly. "Maybe. But I'd like to try."

Tangi smiled, and it was the first he had seen from her all day that held no hint of sadness. "Me too."

She rose to her feet to get ready. Alistair watched her again, and it felt like he was dreaming of a different sort. It was a fantasy – it had to be – though his crippled mind had never been able to concoct one so wondrously detailed. She began disassembling her leather armor, piece by piece. Vambraces slipped over slender wrists. Greaves straps pulled then released. Pauldron laces loosened with nimble fingers. Cuirass buckles pulled apart with practiced grace. Finally, the lightly padded gambeson she wore under her armor fell from her shoulders, leaving her in a form-fitting linen tunic and doeskin leggings. She let her hair down from its usual ponytail. The firelight danced in her chestnut hair as it fell across her shoulders. His breath caught in his chest.

_Maker, she's so beautiful. I'd nearly forgotten._

Alistair wanted to tell her, but the words caught in his throat. He was suddenly aware of how small and frail he had become. He looked down at his hands. His skin was sallow and pale and clung to his bones. What little hair he had left was brittle and dry. And he realized she had seen him in a worse state: naked and filthy and smelling of excrement and neglect. She had washed the filth from him herself.

He wanted her. Oh, dear Andraste, how he wanted her, to touch her skin, to taste her flesh, to feel her warmth surround him. _But she deserves better than me_ , he thought. _She deserves better than a man who was used as a plaything. A man who_ wanted _to be used._

Even still, he felt himself harden at the sight of her. Maker's breath, she wasn't even in her underclothes, and it was all he could do not to push her down onto the bedrolls right then, useless legs be damned. Fear and shame stilled him. He shifted, trying to ease his discomfort, made only worse by his newly confining clothing. His face flushed, and he brought his legs up to try to hide his willful erection.

After Tangi had finished combing her hair, she sat down beside him. Her brow furrowed in concern. "Is something wrong?"

"N-no," he stammered. "Nothing. N-nothing's wrong."

She frowned. "Was it the food? I thought maybe I had made it too rich..."

He shook his head. "Food was fine."

"All right. But you do seem a bit..." Her eyes widened. She saw. "...Oh."

Alistair hid his face in his arms. He could feel it burning in his shame.

He felt her hand squeeze his shoulder. "Hey," she said softly.

He shook his head. "I'm sorry," he mumbled.

"Alistair, it's okay. You don't need to apologize."

Alistair lifted his head, but still could not meet her eyes. "I... it's just that... you were undressing and it... it had been so long since..." He knew he was babbling. His mind could not keep up with his mouth, and he could not stop himself from talking. "I'm sorry... it'll... it'll go away..."

" _Emma lath_ , shh..." And she kissed him.

It was chaste at first, a feather-light caress of her lips on his. His eyes went wide with surprise and all thoughts disappeared from his head. It had been two years since they'd kissed. Two years since he had kissed anyone at all. This one act, untouched, unsullied despite all that had been done to him. It was hers, and hers alone. When he realized this, a desperate hunger rose within him. Her lips parted. Their tongues met. Suddenly there was nothing but her and her glorious mouth. His hands came up into her loose hair, pulling her towards him to deepen the kiss. He could hear her breath quicken. Moans escaped both their mouths.

Tangi pulled away, just enough for their mouths to be parted. Alistair gave a small sigh at the loss. "Wait," she panted. "This is going too fast."

_I've done something wrong_. Alistair backed away from her. "Sorry."

She shook her head. "No, please, just listen." She took a deep breath. "I want this. Creators be damned, I've missed you so much." Her voice quavered. "But you've been free for barely a day. And I don't know what you've been through, but I know you're vulnerable and hurting. Your body is weak and recovering. I just... I just don't want to take advantage of you."

Alistair wasn't sure how to respond. "I want this too," he said finally.

"I know," Tangi said. "It's just... If we do anything tonight, I want to know you're okay with it. Every step of the way. I want you to know that if there's anything you don't want, or if you want to stop, you don't have to worry about it." She took his hands into hers and gave them an affectionate squeeze. "I love you, Alistair. I just want you to be comfortable."

He nodded, still feeling confused, though her words did much to make him feel calm and safe. "So, what do we do then?"

She pursed her lips, thinking. "Is it okay if I just pleasure you tonight?"

Alistair frowned. "What about you?"

"I'll be fine," she assured him, smiling. "Tonight, I want to make you feel good. Can I?"

"Yes," he said around a shuddering breath. To have no expectations placed upon him, except to enjoy and experience. The idea was as intoxicating as it was foreign. "I'd like that."

She helped him stretch out on the bedroll, his head propped up by a few rolled up blankets. He blushed at the uncomfortable bulge in his trousers, made more prominent by his prone position.

Once he was comfortable, she positioned herself between his knees. She bent forward, just a little. "Would you like it if I-"

"No!" When he realized what she intended, he panicked. Images of a brown-haired elf in a candlelit room came to his mind, unbidden. A canopied bed. Anora waiting at the sidelines, her face heavy with anticipation. The firelight flickered over Tangi's face, and for a moment, all he could see was the elven woman with defeated eyes. "No," he repeated after a moment, in a calmer tone. "Please, not like that."

Tangerine nodded, though she was visibly shaken by the force of his refusal. "That's all right," she said. Her voice was gentle, without judgment. "Is there anything you would like?"

Alistair sighed. "I just want to feel you," he said desperately. "Maker, I've wanted to touch you for so long."

She crawled over his leg to sit beside him, where he could reach her with ease. Her hands went up to the laces of her tunic, loosening them quickly. She pulled the tunic over her head in one swift motion, revealing a wealth of rosy skin. He let out a prolonged breath as his tremulous hands skirted around her stomach to her back. Her hands went to the band around her chest, and she pulled at the laces, letting loose her small, pert breasts. He brought his hands up to cup them. They were soft as silk and round as apples. Though small, they filled his hands with just the right amount of wonderful plumpness. His breath turned ragged and husky. His eyes roamed over her, drinking her in, almost overwhelmed by the need to touch everywhere at once.

Tangi bent to kiss him. Her breasts dangled close to his chest, mere tantalizing inches away from brushing against his skin.

Alistair's hands were no longer content to roam leisurely. They moved together, still not used to being unchained, running across her chest and back as if he could make up for two years of wanting all at once. His hands moved with purpose, studying, memorizing. Not wanting to forget again what she felt like. They found old scars he remembered from long ago. They found new scars in places that made his heart ache, because he had not been there to protect her from them.

He was hard again. At this rate, he wasn't sure he would last.

Tangerine unlaced her doeskin leggings and smallclothes then pulled them off together. And there she was, wonderfully naked above him, a vision of everything he had ever wanted. Not just these past two years, but always. A woman with love shining in her eyes, giving herself to him, baring herself to him, simply because it was what they both wanted, what they both needed.

Her hands paused at the laces of his tunic, her eyes open, seeking permission. Alistair closed his eyes, once, slowly. Their lips parted for a moment, just long enough for Tangi to pull his shirt off of him, before they sought each other out again, hungry for more. Her breath had turned ragged as well, and she moved with greater purpose now. She stroked his chest, his stomach. Alistair's enthusiasm flagged somewhat under her ministrations; his self-consciousness about his body got the better of him for a moment. But as she wandered down the hollow of his stomach to the laces of his trousers, whatever ground he lost was quickly regained. She stroked him through the cloth – not to tease, he knew, but to feel and appreciate. Nevertheless, it sent a shudder through him like ripples in water.

She paused again at his trousers, waiting for wordless permission. He gave a short nod, and within moments, pants and smallclothes both were around his knees. He let out a soft breath of relief at the release of his erection, glad to be rid of the confining garments. Their kiss broke off once more so that Tangi could pull the final pieces of clothing off his legs.

Tangi lay down beside him, resting her head on his shoulder. She picked up a small jar from the ground behind her – he had not seen her retrieve it, but it must have come from their cooking supplies nearby – and she poured a small amount of oil into her hand. After massaging the oil into her skin just enough to slicken it, her hand moved downward until it caressed his cock with the lightest of touches. "Is this okay?" she whispered.

"Maker, yes… please," he groaned in reply.

She started slow. Soft strokes that slipped over his needy skin and made him suck air in through his teeth. Her hand, just her hand, and already he wanted to pump into it with abandon. His eyes kept wanting to close, to savor the sensations cascading throughout his body. Even still, he made them stay open, so he could see his beloved and perhaps make himself believe that he finally had her back.

Alistair remembered that he still had his hands, and let them wander below her waist at last. They grazed across the roundness of her hips and the curve of her well-toned behind. His breath hitched in his chest as her fingers added pressure and picked up speed, ever so gradually. He buried his face into the hair that spilled across his shoulder and collarbone. He breathed her scent of rain and wind, and began to remember that these things existed.

Gathering confidence and courage, he ran his hand around her waist and down between the soft thatch of brown curls between her legs. She gave a soft gasp as his hand dipped deeper, just as he moaned at the wetness he found there. "Tangerine…"

She caught his mouth with her own, lips and tongues moving with desperate affection. He grunted and groaned loudly now, the steady rhythm of slick friction driving his senses wild. "Tangi…" he breathed into her mouth. "My Tangerine… at last…"

He wanted more. He wanted it to last longer. But after so long alone, the intensity of his need for her was too much, and he couldn't contain it any longer. He came with a bellowing yell, spilling himself across her hand and wrist, his hips and stomach.

When Alistair broke through the haze of his orgasm, he saw Tangi gazing up at him, a soft smile in her eyes. "I was going to try to… to do something for you too," he told her in a whisper.

The smile touched her lips as well. "I know. Don't worry about it. There will be plenty of time for that later." She began to push herself up into a sitting position.

"Where are you going?" he asked, somewhat alarmed.

She squeezed his arm. "Just a second." She got to her feet and padded to the small pot of water she used for tea. She dropped a cloth inside and set the pot by the fire for just a moment to warm it. Finally, she retrieved the cloth, squeezed it out, and came back to kneel beside him.

With deliberate care, Tangi swiped the cloth across his stomach and waist, cleansing him of his seed. The gentle way she cleaned him reminded him sharply of the elven mage and the way the elf used to prepare him for milking. Tears came to Alistair's eyes and were gone just as quickly as he shoved the image away. It was one of the few memories of that place that held kindness in it, but it pained him nevertheless.

When Tangi had finished with him and began to start on herself, Alistair shook his head. "I want to do this for you."

She nodded.

He took the cloth from her and ran it over and between her slender fingers. He wiped the palm of her hand in small, tight circles before ending with her tiny wrists. Bending forward, he pressed kisses into her palm, relishing the feel of the calluses on his lips. "That was… that was wonderful," he said in a hushed voice. "Thank you."

She smiled. "My pleasure." She took the cloth from him and gestured to the bedroll. "Come, let's get some rest."

They lay down together, covering themselves with a large blanket. Alistair pulled her close, intertwining his legs with hers so that there was not one piece of him that was not touching her.

"Good night, _emma lath_ ," she murmured.

"Good night, Tangi," he replied.

He tried to resist sleep for as long as possible, afraid once more that he would wake up in his cell, and find that it was all a dream. Sleep found him minutes later, however, content and comforted as he was with their naked bodies locked together in a warm embrace. But as much as his skin sang with her touch, it still didn't feel quite real.


	18. Chapter 18

Alistair woke that night, and every night thereafter, in a cold sweat. He dreamt that he was back in his cell, with only the sound of a guard's footsteps to mark the passing of time. He dreamt of Anora beneath him in the midst of their coupling. He dreamt of faceless men debasing him to unending laughter. He considered telling Tangerine about the dreams, but she worried about him so much already. He didn't want to burden her any more than he already had. So he lay awake every night, hugging Tangi close and watching her sleep. Watching her, to make sure she didn't disappear.

They traveled for over a week, through the Brecilian Forest and over the Southron Hills. On the day that they passed dangerously close to South Reach, Alistair felt as if he had spent the entire journey with his breath held in his chest, expecting soldiers to come pouring from the town to take him again. It was only after the town had dipped under the horizon that he was able to breathe normally again.

As they traveled, Tangi told him stories to pass the time when he wasn't sleeping. She knew some of the places they passed, and recounted memories of hunting or playing with her childhood friend, Tamlen. Her voice alternated between laughter and regret; Alistair remembered that she was forced to kill her friend shortly before the Landsmeet.

Tangi also talked about Duncan. The two of them had taken a similar route to Ostagar when she was recruited. "He was so patient with me," she recalled with a smile. "I didn't talk to him at all that first day. I'd just lost Tamlen and was forced to leave my clan. He was also one of the first humans I had much contact with. I think I resented him a little." She looked down at her hands with distant eyes. "But I came to respect him a great deal in just a few days. I'm sorry I never had the chance to tell him that."

Alistair stared out at the thinning forest towards the rolling hills ahead. He tried to imagine Duncan's kind and wise face, and found it harder than it should have been. "I haven't thought about Duncan in a long time." A familiar ache tugged at Alistair's heart when he said Duncan's name.

Tangerine reached over and took his hand. Already the gesture was beginning to feel comfortable and familiar. She was quiet for a moment before speaking. "I made a memorial for him… in Highever, like you wanted."

Alistair's eyes shot up to meet hers. "You… you did?"

She nodded. "It's not much. I… I didn't know what humans do to honor their dead when there's no body to bury. So I buried his dagger and planted a tree over it, in the Dalish way. I had a plaque made to go next to it, so others would know who it was for." She gave a sad smile. "It's just a sapling now, but years from now, it will become a grand oak tree worthy of his memory."

Alistair had no words. Instead, he threw his arms around her in a rough embrace. It took a few moments for him to find his voice again. "Thank you," he whispered.

o.O.o

As they approached Ostagar, Alistair grew nervous. He had only just begun to feel accustomed to Tangi's presence; the idea of other people, many more of them, made his heart hammer and his palms sweat.

Tangerine seemed to sense his anxiety. "I know. It will be a lot more people than you're used to."

"I'm used to no one," he muttered miserably.

She nodded. "I know," she said again. "I have a quiet place in mind that's out of the way of the others. You can get to know them at a pace you're comfortable with."

He did not say anything, staring at the fortress looming in the distance.

They soon reached the tall walls and archways of the fortress. Alistair could see tiny shapes moving at the top of the walls. He gulped.

Tangi brought her hands to his lips and blew, producing a loud, chirruping bird call. After a moment, a similar call echoed across the valley. She smiled. "They're expecting us."

The gates opened. Their _aravel_ shuddered into Ostagar.

Alistair gaped at the little town that had been erected within the fortress walls. The surroundings were familiar: crumbled towers, scattered archways and ramps and columns, ancient stone battlements. But where he remembered tents, he found small cottages, built from what looked to be repurposed stone from the ruined fortress. Landships and camps dotted the town between the cottages, their campfires filling the air with the earthy smell of smoke. Elves walked along what looked to be the main thoroughfare, carrying baskets or bushels as they went about their daily tasks. Alistair tensed, feeling conspicuous as the only human in their midst. He felt as if they were all staring at him, judging him.

Tangi put an arm around his shoulders, though it did little to calm his nerves. "We'll be through soon," she told him.

"Why… why do only some of them have houses?" he asked, trying to distract himself from the wondering eyes of the passersby.

"We didn't have a lot of materials to build with," Tangi explained. "There's plenty of lumber, if we were willing to cut down the trees, but we don't wish to take too much from the land if we can help it. We've reused much of the existing structures, or the stray stones we've found. Most of us are used to sleeping outdoors anyway, and some have chosen to wait until our second wave of construction."

Alistair looked around before focusing his attention on Tangerine. He didn't feel so self-conscious if he pretended that it was still just the two of them. "Where does... your clan stay?" he asked.

Tangerine shook her head. "They're not here. Keeper Marethari took them north to the Free Marches anyway." She let out a sharp puff of breath. "I think she did it to protect the other clans."

"Protect them?" Alistair frowned. "From what?"

Her face turned grave. "I have a friend, Merrill. She was Marethari's First, the Keeper's successor. But she's a bit… free with her use of magic. Marethari didn't say so – she said they did not want to be tied to the land – but I think she really just wanted to keep Merrill away from everyone else."

Their _aravel_ turned a corner, and Alistair suddenly became aware of the Tower of Ishal looming over them. His eyes followed the Tower up and up to its highest point. That day when the Grey Wardens and Cailan's army fell seemed a lifetime ago. He was a different person then. He wasn't sure who he was now.

A dog's barking pierced the air. A large mabari came bounding out of a nearby cottage and scrambled towards them. Tangi laughed in delight and stopped the halla. "Satsuma!" she called, hopping down from the driver's bench. The dog threw himself at her, nearly bowling her over. "I missed you too, boy!"

Satsuma barked happily, bouncing around her on his hind legs. He tried several times to lick her face, but she fended him off with her hands.

A blond elf in mage's robes emerged from the cottage with a smile on her face. "That dog of yours, Mahariel, has too much energy," she said in a falsely scolding tone. "He broke several dishes the first day he got here."

Tangerine grinned. "Sorry about that, Keeper," she replied. "He was probably just worried about me." She looked up at Alistair. "Alistair, this is Keeper Lanaya. You may remember her from when we helped her clan with the werewolves."

Alistair nodded, but said nothing.

"So you did find him after all," Lanaya said in wonder to Tangerine. Then she turned to address Alistair. " _An'daran atish'an_. I understand you have been through a terrible ordeal. I am so sorry. We'll be sure to give you some space, until you have had time to heal. But please know that you're welcome here with the Dalish whenever you feel ready to join our community."

"Th-thank you," Alistair mumbled in reply.

Lanaya turned back to Tangi. "You should go on down to your campsite now. Send Satsuma whenever you're ready for me."

"Thank you, Keeper." Tangi climbed back up to the driver's bench and clicked her tongue to get the halla moving again.

Their campsite was only a few hundred feet away on a lower level behind the Keeper's house. It was well-secluded, bordered by trees on one side and half-crumbled walls on the other two. Alistair felt his muscles ease as he realized they were alone again.

"Are you okay?" Tangerine asked him as she helped him down from the _aravel_.

He shrugged, feeling somewhat embarrassed. "I… I got so nervous," he admitted. "I kept expecting them to, I don't know… laugh at me or something." He ran his hands through his short hair. "A little over a week ago, I would have been overjoyed if you told me I'd be living with people again. Now I… I feel like I just want to hide."

She rose onto her toes to kiss him on the cheek. He blushed. "It will take time, _emma lath_. But you'll start getting used to them."

Alistair wasn't so sure, but he didn't say so to Tangerine.

The week of good food, of freedom, of being with his beloved again, had done wonders for Alistair's strength and spirit. He was already able to walk, if not for very long. He helped Tangi unload the landship, glad to be able to help even in a minimal fashion. "What did Lanaya mean before?" he asked as he carried the bedrolls close to the fire pit.

"I sent word ahead that you would need healing," Tangi replied as she built a fire. "Lanaya offered to come by after we've settled in to take a look at you."

"I feel fine."

"I know you do," she said patiently. "But you might be sick and not know it. Or have old injuries you don't feel anymore. She might be able to help your legs beyond the poultice I put on them." She put down her flint and looked up at him. "I'm not going to force you to do anything you don't want to do, _emma lath_. If you're not comfortable with it now, then maybe some other time. I only want you to feel better and be healthy." She smiled. "Maybe then you can start your healing with a clean slate."

_A clean slate._ Alistair sat down on one of the bedrolls and looked down at his hands. He could still see the calluses left by the manacles that were no longer around his wrists. He wished he could rid himself of the feeling that they were still there. Finally, he nodded. "All right. Send her over."

"You don't want to wait?"

"No," he murmured. "Let's… get it over with."

Tangi sent Satsuma up to Lanaya's cottage right away. By the time they had the rest of the camp set up, they could see Lanaya on her way down to meet them. She had her staff in hand, as well as a small satchel.

"Hello again, Alistair," the Keeper greeted. "Where would you feel most comfortable? In the _aravel_?"

Alistair blanched and shook his head. The prospect of being in a small space was already enough to make his insides turn inside out. Being alone in a small space with a stranger, then… "No… not inside."

"Would a tent be all right?" she asked gently. "I believe Mahariel has a large one that shouldn't feel cramped."

Tangerine nodded. "I've been using it for meetings with the new Warden recruits."

Alistair frowned. "I… I don't know. I guess so."

It took Tangi several minutes to erect the tent. As they waited, Alistair and Lanaya rolled up the blankets and bedding he had just laid out. When Tangi was finished with the tent, they brought the bedrolls inside, as well as a few lanterns.

The inside of the tent _was_ spacious, with enough room for five or six grown men to sleep comfortably. The tent was tall as well; Alistair could stand inside without ducking. Lanaya gestured for Alistair to lie on the bedrolls. He stared at them for a moment. "Can… can Tangi be here with me?"

"If that will make you more comfortable, of course she can," Lanaya replied.

He lay down, and Tangerine sat on her feet beside him. She took his hand in hers and gave him a reassuring smile. "I'll be right here."

He took a deep breath and nodded.

Lanaya knelt at his other side. "Alistair, this is meant to make you feel better. If you're not comfortable with anything I do, or if you get anxious, let us know."

Alistair took another deep breath. "I will."

The Keeper held her hands over him with her eyes closed. For a moment, nothing happened. Soon, however, her hands began to glow with pale blue light. At the same time, the cool hum of healing magic swept slowly over his body from head to foot. The long-buried part of him that was still a templar could tell that all she was doing now was scanning him for injury and disease. The magic was soft and subtle like the tip of a feather brushed against his skin.

The magic increased in magnitude as she began healing. Alistair gave a soft gasp. A rush of cold ran over his back first, then his entire torso. The healing lasted several minutes, leaving his teeth chattering. Gooseflesh rose on his arms. The sensation then moved downward to his legs where it stayed for several more moments. The feeling, though not painful, was quite uncomfortable. Alistair squeezed Tangi's hand.

When the blue glow left her hands and the cold abated, Lanaya raised her head. "That was just the first part, to treat your outward symptoms. Getting rid of the causes will be a little trickier." She reached into her satchel and pulled out a small potion of lyrium. "Are you ready?" she asked after drinking the potion.

Alistair looked up at Tangerine, whose face was so filled with hope that it made him feel as if strings pulled at the corners of his heart. The hair from her head fell around her face in cascades of chestnut and hints of gold. Not for the first time, he wondered if he had perhaps dreamed this woman who loved him so perfectly. "I'm ready," he whispered.

The second rush of cold made him arch his back as it pierced through him. The chill seemed to come from within him this time, born from his own veins. It crept through his body, making his muscles tense. It still did not hurt, but he shivered from the sensation of being so suddenly filled with ice. Tangi pressed the back of his hand to her face, gripping his fingers. To comfort him or to comfort herself, Alistair was not sure.

Long minutes passed before Lanaya's hands ceased glowing at last. She took a deep breath before raising her head again. "All done," she announced in a tired voice.

Tangi helped him sit up. "How do you feel, _emma lath_? You look better."

Alistair _did_ feel better. His skin, though still pale, no longer had the faint yellow pallor he had grown accustomed to seeing. There had been an ache in his legs that he had also no longer noticed until it was gone. The mild tingling in his hands and feet that he thought was from cold was also gone. He found he could breathe more easily. And while an hour ago he said he felt fine, he now knew that not to be the case. A general feeling of malaise had lifted from him, a feeling he thought had only come from depression and loneliness. He looked from one to the other of the two elven women in wonder. "Much better," he said. He turned to Lanaya. "Thank you so much."

Lanaya smiled. "You're welcome." Her face turned serious. "Now, the healing won't last if we don't start giving you some proper nutrition. Much of the reason why you were so sick was because you're malnourished. You need grains and fruits and vegetables especially. We have no shortage of the latter two, but we have to trade for the grains. I'll have some brought to your camp right away." She turned to Tangi. "Mahariel, gather some spruce needles and make a tea from them. Alistair will need it right away."

Tangi nodded. "There are spruce trees nearby. It won't take long." She squeezed Alistair's hand. "Is it all right if I leave you with Lanaya for a few minutes?" she asked him.

Alistair glanced at the Keeper. His gratitude for her healing had erased his unease. "Yeah, I'll be all right."

Tangi smiled and left the tent.

Lanaya watched the other elf for a moment before speaking. "Alistair, there's something else I wanted to talk to you about."

Alistair frowned. "Without Tangerine, I gather?"

"This is… private," she said in a quieter tone. "There were other infections I healed. Ones that weren't caused by malnutrition." Her eyes were sad, compassionate. "They were sexually transmitted."

He froze. His breath caught in his throat. Images of Anora, of faceless men, flashed in his vision when he closed his eyes. Every blink, they were there.

"I am so sorry, Alistair," she told him, her voice breaking. "I… I know from experience what that must have been like for you. But… at least physically, you should feel a little better there too. From the healing, I mean."

Alistair gave a short nod. He supposed he should feel sad or angry or frightened. But at every image he saw in the blink of an eye, he felt nothing. Nothing but shame. "Please don't tell her," he whispered. "She… she can't ever know."

"I won't tell her. I promise. You can tell her, or not, in your own time." Lanaya glanced out of the flaps of the tent then back at Alistair. "But if you ever need to talk to someone about it, I'm always just up the hill. I'll listen – just listen – if you need it."

Alistair nodded. "Will… will I get her sick?" he asked. His voice quavered. _This_ made him feel fear, the thought that his defilement would touch Tangerine somehow. "If we… I just… I don't want to give her anything."

Lanaya shook her head. "No, the illness is gone. Mahariel won't get anything from you."

He let out a long breath. "Thank you."

"Of course," she told him. "And I mean it. My door is always open to you if you need to talk." Her eyes flitted back to the tent flaps. "She's coming back."

Tangerine entered the tent a moment later, carrying a steaming cup in her hands. "Here you are, _emma lath_. I put a little honey in. It's a bit bitter otherwise."

"Thank you," he murmured and took the cup.

Tangi studied his face with her brow furrowed. "Is everything all right?"

He looked up at her over the steam from the tea. "Fine. Just… just tired."

Lanaya rose to her feet. "You should get some rest, Alistair. You'll feel much better than you did, but you shouldn't overexert yourself."

"I'll make sure he gets lots of rest," Tangi assured her. " _Ma serannas_ , Keeper."

"Anytime," she replied. "I'll send those grains over as soon as I get back." Her eyes met Alistair's with a meaningful look. "Feel better, Alistair. Let me know if you need anything." With that, she left.

Alistair sipped the tea. It was bright and citrusy, and smelled of evergreen.

After he had drained the cup, Tangi helped him to his feet. "It's getting late. I should start supper." She smiled, pulling him gently by the hand. "Come sit by the fire. You can reacquaint yourself with Satsuma while I cook."

Alistair let himself be pulled, his feet lighter, his heart heavier. He walked easily at her side for the first time, but felt strongly that he didn't belong there. He sat beside Satsuma, who whined and whimpered as he nuzzled Alistair's knee. Alistair watched Tangi hum to herself, setting water to boil and rabbits to roast.

He had almost gotten her sick, that first night a week ago. Thank the Maker they hadn't done more. Though he had been cleansed of the illness, he still felt dirty. And he wasn't sure the filth he held could ever be washed clean.


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These next two chapters were meant to be just one, but I split it when it started to get long. I'll be posting the second, much longer chapter tomorrow after I've had the chance to edit it. Thank you again for the reviews!

Under the constant care of Tangi and Lanaya, Alistair gained weight and strength at an impressive rate. Though he knew he was still thin by any standard, it wasn't long before he could no longer see the ribs in his chest or feel his bones just under his skin. He ate much and often; it was difficult for him to shed the feeling that the food might be taken away at any moment.

There were days when Alistair almost felt like smiling, watching Tangi wake next to him under the soft glow of dawn. There were days when he almost laughed at Satsuma's antics in their campsite, chasing squirrels or snuffling at butterflies. But more often were the days when it was difficult to rise from their bedding, even for breakfast. Or the days when he stared at the trees or the sunset or Tangerine's smile and felt nothing, as if they weren't there. Days when even though Tangi was nearby and hundreds of other people were mere yards away, even though there was light and sound and fresh air, he still felt alone and trapped. Alistair never knew what kind of day it would be. A fact that made him fear and despair all the more.

_I should be happy_ , he told himself over and over again. _I shouldn't feel this way. I have everything I wanted. I'm free. I have Tangerine._ He would watch her as she read or cooked or washed her clothes. And he felt _guilty_ , because she was patient and loving and yet, somehow, not enough. As desperately as he wanted to be close to her again, to connect with her again, he could feel himself withdrawing from her. He did not know how to stop it.

"Are you all right?" Tangi asked one afternoon after he had finished his lunch in sullen silence. It had been nearly a month since his rescue, and he could see that she was growing wary of him. She had begun to expect him to be in a foul mood.

"Fine," Alistair replied in a clipped tone. He wasn't sure why he had responded to her that way. She didn't deserve it.

"You're not fine, _emma lath_ ," she persisted gently. She sat down beside him and put a hesitant hand on his shoulder. "Is there something I can do?"

He shrugged her hand away. But he wanted it there. Why did he do that? "Like what?"

Tangi gazed at him with eyes so full of kindness and determination that they were difficult to look at. "We could talk," she offered. "Or if you don't want to talk to me, you could talk to Keeper Lanaya. Or, if not her, someone else from the clan. Master Varathorn is wise, and a good listener." Her eyes wrinkled at the corners like they did when she worried about him. They were always a little wrinkled these days. "You should talk about it to _someone_ , Alistair."

He shook his head. "Why? So I can relive it? Once was enough, Tangerine."

"To process it. To start to get past it. To share your burden."

Share his burden? How could he subject others to that? _She can't know. She can't ever know. I can't do that to her. Not ever._ "I don't want to share and I don't want to talk at anyone. I just want to be left alone." He got to his feet.

Tangi looked up at him sadly. "Haven't you been alone long enough?"

He had. Maker's breath, he was so tired of being alone. Yet his throat closed around the words, and he couldn't answer her. His feet moved without his willing them to, and he found himself in the tent moments later. He collapsed into the soft bedding atop the carpet-covered floor and stared at the tent's walls until he fell into a dreamless sleep.

o.O.o

It was early evening when Alistair woke a few hours later. When he emerged from the tent, Tangerine wasn't there, most likely having gone hunting as she liked to do when she needed to think. She always left Satsuma behind to watch over him and keep him company.

For the first time in days, he was feeling better, his irritability having faded in his slumber. Guilt bit at his insides as he thought back to how he had talked to her. He would have to make it up to her later.

Alistair set about making himself some of the spruce tea. As he sat waiting for the water to boil, Satsuma padded up to him, sniffing hesitantly.

"It's okay, boy," Alistair said to the mabari. "I don't know how long it will last, but I'm in better spirits now." He sighed and scratched under Satsuma's chin. "Maker, please let it last."

Once the tea was ready, he sat down under the shade of a tree where Tangi liked to read. The low branches were thick and smooth, making a comfortable place to sit. Tangi had thrown a halla blanket over one of the branches for padding, and her favorite books were in a leather saddlebag sitting on the ground nearby. Alistair flipped open the saddlebag and picked up the book on top. " _A Warrior's Heart_ ," Alistair read. He was glad to find he could still read easily; he had been afraid that it was one of those skills one forgets when it isn't used.

He sat down with his tea and began to read, waiting for Tangi to return.

Alistair almost didn't hear Tangerine when she entered the camp. Her small feet made only the faintest of sounds as she strode through the grass. She set down the ducks and rabbits she had caught and walked towards him. " _Aneth ara_ ," she greeted. "Enjoying the book?"

"Hello," Alistair replied, tucking a finger into the book to mark his page. "It's nice, reading again. Good stuff in here about Grey Wardens."

She sat down beside him. "The parts on the Legion of the Dead and the Silent Sisters are interesting too. A friend of mine let me borrow it. She used to be a Legionnaire before she joined the Wardens." For a moment, she smiled with a distant look on her face before blinking, coming out of her brief reverie. "You seem like you're feeling a bit better."

He nodded and sighed. "Sometimes I just feel so… I don't know. On-edge. Irritable. And for no good reason, really." He put the book and his cup down. "I'm sorry about earlier, Tangi. I know I've been like this for a while. It's not fair to you."

Tangi placed a hand on his arm. This time, he let it stay. "Thank you, _emma lath_ , but it's not your fault. It's going to take some time before you start feeling normal again."

"If that's even possible," Alistair muttered.

She stroked her thumb against his arm soothingly. "We'll find out together what your new normal is. And we'll get there eventually." She paused, biting her lip. "Have you thought about what I said earlier? About maybe talking to someone?"

He looked down at his hands, at the calluses around his wrists. He tried to cover them with his sleeves, so he wouldn't have to see them. _She can't know. She can't ever know. She'll see what I've become. She deserves better._ "I don't know… I don't think I'm ready for that sort of thing."

She nodded and stood to embrace him. Even seated, he was only a few inches shorter than she was standing. He rested his head against her shoulder, breathing her in as much as he dared. "If you say you're not ready, then I believe you," she whispered. "But please keep thinking about it. For me?"

"I will," he promised. "For you."


	20. Chapter 20

With the return of some of his strength, Alistair found his desire for Tangi had come upon him full force. It had always been there, leaving him hard and wanting in the early hours of the morning with her lying mere inches from him. He could will it away, then. He would think of something else and his longing would ease.

Not so now. His body had been healed and nourished, even if his soul was still bruised and battered. Fantasies fell upon him constantly throughout each day, more tantalizing than they had ever been when he had been imprisoned, now with an active mind and the reality of her nearby. He thought he might go mad with wanting. So he took to pleasuring himself when he was alone, when bathing or while she was hunting.

Tangi was willing, he knew. Sometimes after he woke from a nightmare, he would hear her sigh his name in her sleep. The knowledge that she was dreaming of him, of coupling with him, sent his heart racing. More often than not, he had to leave the tent to relieve the ache of desire, spending himself in his hand with a few short strokes.

Weeks passed. And as time went on he hated himself all the more for denying her this. But as much as he knew they both wanted – both _needed_ this – he couldn't bring himself to act on his desires. He was free of disease now, but he was still unclean, defiled. He knew it. He could _feel_ it within him. _I can't taint her with my filth. How could I think to touch her with this? I can't let her see what I've become. She deserves better._ He felt as if he was back in his cell, crying out her name again and again, losing his mind with loneliness. This time, however, she was always there, within reach yet still unattainable. He wasn't sure which was worse.

Alistair watched Tangi undress one night as she prepared for a bath. He felt almost masochistic for doing so, but he could not keep his eyes from her. Heat flushed his face and his groin. He tried to hide his blushing in the glow of firelight.

Tangi emerged from the tent dressed only in a robe, her hair undone and caressing her shoulders in gentle waves. "Going to bed soon?" she asked, arranging soaps and oil in her arms.

He nodded, passing her a bucket of hot stones to warm her bath. "Soon."

She smiled and took the bucket from him. "Sleep well, then. I'll be back shortly."

He watched her step behind the _aravel_ towards the bath that they had set up yards away in a small copse of trees. His heart thumped loudly in his chest. His feet itched to follow her.

Twenty-eight months caged. Every moment in all that time longing for her. Six weeks free. Every moment in all that time resisting his need for her. The weight of all that time and yearning pulled at him, and he had always pulled back, desperate to protect her from himself.

He was tired of pulling.

Alistair's will to resist broke at last, and he took one step after another to follow her. His bare feet carried him slowly, still hesitant and wary, over the soft grass and into a line of sparse trees. Moonlight darted in between branches, cutting through the darkness with beams of pale silver. He could not think, could barely breathe from the fantasies that wormed their way into his mind's eye.

The bath was nestled in the midst of a copse of trees whose dense growth shielded the tub, creating a private little alcove. Alistair could see flickers of movement in the gaps between the trees. He pressed on, driven by a singular purpose: to fill himself with her and fill her in turn.

There was a breath in the breeze – a sigh, a shudder. Hints of Tangi's voice filled the air like the last vestiges of music. He still could not see her, but the air was filled with her. His feet made little sound over the woodland floor as he approached the entrance to the alcove.

Tangerine lay atop her outspread robe on the dewy grass. Her eyes were closed, her head thrown back in silent supplication. She let out a soft cry as her hand worked between her bent legs. Not teasing. Seeking. For there had to be an end to the torment of wanting and not having. Her mouth moved without sound. "Alistair…"

This wasn't real. Could not be. Surely the Maker knew he wasn't worthy of such perfection. "Tangerine…" he whispered huskily.

Her eyes flew open. Her hand pulled away as if burned. "Alistair!" she gasped, her face turning instantly red. She staggered to her feet. "What are you-"

He rushed to her, his mouth crashing into hers. As he wrapped his arms around her, his hands sought out any bit of skin they could find, anything he could reach. Tangi pulled hard on the laces of his tunic, harder perhaps than she meant to, for he heard a tiny rip. Their lips parted only long enough for her to strip him of his shirt, and her hands went at once to his breeches. He was naked in seconds.

Their bodies acted without thought, moving against each other, sliding and rubbing with urgent need. There was no sound except their heavy breaths and rough groans. Alistair slipped a hand between her legs and into her folds, and moaned when he found her already slick with arousal. She gasped as he dipped a finger into her, then another. She was so warm and wet. He imagined what she would feel like around him, the thought driving him half-mad. But he was determined; she would not be left wanting this time.

With some reluctance, he pulled his lips from her, trailing them instead to nip and suckle at her sensitive ears. Tangi gasped even more loudly this time, especially so as he moved his fingers within her. Incomprehensible encouragement tumbled from her lips. Her fingernails scratched circles on his back as her hands curled into fists.

He wanted to taste her. Dear Maker, how long had it been since he'd done that? He pulled away from her, and she gave a tiny whimper. Lacking the strength to pick her up, he knelt beside the robe on the ground and pulled her to lie down. He knelt between her knees.

" _Emma lath_ , are you sure-" Her sentence cut off with a breathy moan as he ran his tongue over and between her soft folds. Even here, the scent and taste of her reminded him of the forest. Clean, earthy musk like fallen leaves, sweet like maple. Her ragged breath, the occasional cry of his name urged him on. He plunged his tongue into her, sucked and nibbled at the little hooded nub of nerves. The sight of her arching her back left him almost breathless. She filled his senses, intoxicating him.

His stomach twisted in hunger.

At first, Alistair was puzzled. He had, after all, just eaten a short time ago. When he finally realized why, his stomach twisted again, this time in revulsion. He closed his eyes shut tight. _She's not Anora, she's not Anora, she's not Anora_ , he chanted in his head. Images swam in his head, of Anora spread before him on a canopied bed, of a basket of food sitting tantalizingly nearby. He forced his eyes open, to make himself see that _Tangerine_ was real now, not the torment he saw behind his eyelids. _Tangi's real, she's real… Not Anora, not Anora…I'm not there anymore, damn it!_

"Alistair?"

He realized he had stopped, just staring at Tangi with anguish on his face. She had been close to her orgasm; he could see from her dilated eyes and pleading expression that she desperately wanted to be finished.

"Are you okay?" she asked, still panting.

_Not Anora. Tangi's real, she's real…_ "Fine," he managed to say, though it was through gritted teeth.

She shook her head. "You're not fine. If you want to stop…"

"No!" he replied, too loudly. "I want this. I _want_ to do this!" He took a few deep breaths. His hands shook with the effort. "I want to do this," he said again, more calmly this time. "Please, let me try."

Tangi still looked doubtful, but nodded her head. She laid her head back down onto the robe and waited.

Alistair took another calming breath. _I can do this… Just need to do something that doesn't remind me. Something for Tangerine, and her alone._

He crawled across her body and lay beside her. He kissed her, to draw strength from her, to remember who she was. _She's real, she's real…_ He sighed into her mouth. More, more, he wanted more. To touch and taste and smell and see and hear. To do more for her, as she had done so much for him. To show her that, as broken as he was, his love for her was still whole.

He remembered that she used to like it when he took her breasts in his mouth, and broke from her lips. He slid his body down so that his head was level with her chest. As he caught one of her pert nipples with his lips, she gave a cry of pleasure. Encouraged, he licked and sucked more of her flesh until she trembled and arched into his touch. She had been teased far too long, he knew, and he ran his hand down her front until it found the soft curls between her legs. He turned his attention to her other breast before dipping a finger into her slick entrance and stroking her clit with his thumb.

"Oh, Alistair, yes…" Tangi sighed.

She was so wet, he could slip a second and third finger into her easily. He groaned, wanting to be inside her. But this was for her, and could only be for her now.

It only took a few more pumps of his fingers, a few swipes of his thumb against her clit. She shuddered, a soft keening cry escaping from her lips as her inner walls clenched around his fingers. Maker, but she was magnificent, with her head thrown back and her eyes closed in an expression of rapture and release.

As the tremors of her orgasm slowed, Alistair removed his hand and lay his head on her shoulder. His untouched erection lay heavy on top of Tangi's thigh. "Was that… all right?"

She turned her head to press a kiss to his forehead. "Much more than all right, _emma lath_ ," she replied with a smile.

"I'm glad."

Something in his tone must have alarmed her. The smile fell from her face. "Are you okay?"

Alistair shrugged, not knowing what to tell her. _She can't ever know_. He wanted her so badly. He had come to this place, to bring to an end with her a years-long yearning. He couldn't do that now, he knew. If he tried, she wouldn't be the one he would see beneath him.

He got to his feet and grabbed for his clothes. Tangi rose quickly, catching his wrist. "Please don't go," she said in a gentle voice. "Please, _emma lath_ , talk to me."

Alistair turned to look down at her. Her face was still flushed, her chestnut hair mussed. "What do you want me to say?"

"Anything." Her blue-green eyes looked like an ocean storm in their ferocity. "It doesn't matter what. So long as you let me in."

He cast his eyes up to the sky in frustration. "How do I do that?" Shadows of clouds passed across the moon, so that the only light was the orange flicker of Tangi's lantern. He felt despair welling up within him. "I don't even know. How can I tell you what's wrong when I'm not even sure there's anything _right_ with me?"

"Alistair…"

"I can't make love with you, Tangerine!" he shouted, tears welling in his eyes. The words had burst from his lips, like a dam breaking under pressure. He wished immediately to take them back. _Andraste, no… she's not an idiot… She'll know…_ But now that the flood of words had started, he did not know how to stop them. "I can't! Perhaps not ever. Is that what you want to hear?" The knowledge that she deserved better, that he was unclean and wretched, came crashing over him again. If her hand wasn't still on his wrist, he would have fled.

"What does that make me?" he cried. "What does that make _us_? What kind of relationship can we have when I can't even…?" He couldn't finish the sentence. The words caught in his throat.

Tangi rose to her feet, picking up her robe with her free hand. "But you want to?" she asked, still with that gentle patience.

He reached up to touch a tendril of hair at her temple. "Desperately."

She released his wrist to wrap her dirt-strewn robe around her. She looked up into his eyes with that piercing gaze of hers. "Do you want to try?" The question was asked simply, in an even tone. No judgment, no insistence, no pressure. "Not now. But if you want it as much as you seem to, we could try to figure out something you're comfortable with. Only if you want to."

As touched as he was by her suggestion, he knew for certain now. He was tainted by more than darkspawn blood. He shook his head. "No, I can't… I've put you through enough. You deserve better than a shell of a man who can't even satisfy you. You deserve someone who will make you happy, who won't be a burden on you."

Her brow furrowed. Her eyes went wide. "Are you saying you don't want us to be together anymore?"

Alistair could feel his heart sink in his chest, an almost physical pain of helplessness. "You deserve so much more than what I can give you," he whispered. "I'm tired of dragging you down."

Tangi took a step from him, staring at him in stunned silence. It seemed as if time had stopped. As if she would gaze at him with those eyes, so full of sadness, under the shadows of moonlit clouds forever. He wanted her to speak, to yell at him, to slap him, to cry. Something other than her frozen expression that achingly reminded him of her panic-stricken face so long ago.

Minutes passed before something in her changed. Her mouth shifted, her lips drawn into a tight line. Her jaw set into sharp angles on her otherwise smooth face. A steely hardness entered her eyes, chasing away the sadness. Alistair watched as the changes overcame her. He remembered that look in her eyes, in the recesses of his still hazy memory. She was not a woman who had just been left by a lover.

Tangerine was a soldier going into battle.

"No."

Alistair blinked at her. "No?" he repeated.

She stared him down. "No, I'm not letting you give up on us."

"Tangerine…"

She took a step toward him. Even in a thin, dirty robe, she had a formidable presence. "No, Alistair, listen to me. I will give you all the space you need. I will step back, so you're in charge of the steps you want to take with your recovery, when you want to take them. I will stand by and wait for you to talk to someone about what you've gone through, when you're ready." She paused, taking a heavy breath. "But _I'm_ the one who decides what I deserve. _I'm_ the one who decides who will ultimately make me happy. And what I deserve, what will make me happy, is being with the person I _love_." Her voice rang across the valley below.

It was his turn to gape at her. This wasn't at all what he expected. _She doesn't understand…_ he told himself. _She doesn't know…_ "You don't understand…"

She shook her head. "I understand better than you think I do." She studied his face for a moment. "Do you still love me?"

Alistair bit his lip. "More than anything," he breathed.

"Do you still _want_ to be together? Never mind everything else. Is it what you want?"

Heat rose to his eyes. "Yes."

The hardness in her eyes faded. "Then why would I let you give up on us?" She reached up to curl her arms around his neck. "I lost you to Anora once already," she told him, her voice trembling. "I'll not lose you to her again." She pulled him down into a rough embrace, his head resting on her shoulder. "You hear me? I won't allow it. No matter what's happened, no matter how difficult it is for us, so long as you love me and I love you, we'll figure it out together."

Silent tears slid down his cheeks. He couldn't speak. How could she be real, this woman of tireless devotion? He nodded, feeling safe in her arms. There was something else he felt as well, like a tiny seed of something, growing in his chest.

Tangerine held him there for a long time. The cool summer evening air swept around them, making their skin prickle with gooseflesh.

Alistair felt her smile against the crown of his head. "You should probably put your clothes on," she murmured.

He pulled away from her and looked down at himself. He had forgotten that he was still naked. Hints of mirth pulled at the corners of his mouth. "That does seem to be a good idea," he replied.

She went on tiptoe to give him a lingering kiss then stepped back to let him dress. "Come, Satsuma is probably wondering what happened to us," she said once he was clothed. "And we could both use some rest."

Alistair nodded but looked back over his shoulder. "What about your bath?"

Tangi smiled up at him. "We need each other now. It'll still be waiting there for me in the morning."

With that, she pulled him by the hand through the trees to their awaiting tent.


	21. Chapter 21

The next few days saw a change between them. Though Alistair still didn't feel ready to talk to Tangerine about what had happened to him, he felt for the first time that perhaps she needed him almost as much as he needed her. He wasn't sure what he had to offer her – in fact, he could think of nothing he could give. But he wanted to find something worthwhile within himself. He took comfort in her dedication to him; if she saw something worthy in him, then perhaps he could find it too.

The night after their confrontation at the bath, Alistair felt a familiar stirring of need as he watched Tangi brush her hair. When before he might have excused himself to pump into his hand in shame behind the _aravel_ , instead he gathered his courage and kissed Tangi with nervous passion. They tumbled into their bedding, pleasuring each other with hands and locked lips until, for the first time in ages, they came together with bated cries. Most nights ended this way, and many mornings began as such too. And while his desire to be inside her did not go away, slowly, slowly, he started to believe that perhaps this was enough for now.

Several days later found Alistair and Tangi venturing into town. She had taken him into the Dalish village every so often since they had arrived, to get him acclimated to living with people again. For the first couple of weeks, he was too scared and intimidated to go. When he finally relented, it was because he had realized that he could not depend on Tangi forever as his sole source of companionship. If he was going to be normal again – or as close to it as he could manage – he would have to be independent, and that meant being around strangers.

He had started with just a few minutes and built up from there. Though he still felt anxious every time he went into town, he found it somewhat comforting that the town was comprised entirely of elves. Every elf he had encountered during his imprisonment had helped him in some way, whether it was the elven mage who healed him or the servants who bathed him. He wondered if he would be more scared if it were a town of his own kind.

Alistair's goal for the day was to stay an hour. He was in good spirits, and his confidence felt bolstered by his newfound intimacy with Tangi. They walked hand-in-hand up to the main thoroughfare, Satsuma bounding happily at their heels.

As they walked, Tangi smiled and waved at friends and acquaintances. Alistair watched her, listened to her speak to passersby in sentences half in Elvish. He liked watching her interact with people; it reminded him of the adventures they had together, what seemed a lifetime ago. As much as she claimed that she was a solitary person, she had a natural grace with people that he envied.

The bridge between the two halves of Ostagar had turned into a town square of sorts, a place where the elves met and traded and socialized. Stalls trading herbs, vegetables, or wild game lined the bridge, and people gathered around a bonfire at the center to converse or tell stories. Alistair swallowed at what felt like a crowd of people, all talking animatedly in combinations of Elvish and the Common Tongue. In truth, there were only perhaps thirty or forty elves gathered there, yet it was the most people Alistair had seen gathered on the bridge so far. Tangi gave his hand a tight squeeze to reassure him.

"Do you think you'll be okay?" she asked in a low voice.

He nodded. "For a while. Let's… not stay long, though."

"We won't," she promised. "But I wonder why it's so busy today."

Tangi weaved them through the gathered elves until she found Master Varathorn at his stall, chatting with Sarel.

" _Aneth ara_ ," Tangi greeted the two men. "Why are there so many people here today?"

Sarel glared at Alistair with narrowed eyes. Alistair shifted uncomfortably. He was sure Sarel didn't like him. Though, if Alistair remembered correctly, Sarel rarely liked anyone who wasn't Dalish.

"The traders have returned from New Lothering with more building supplies," Varathorn answered. "The pelts we have gathered seem to have fetched a good price with the humans. There are many who are eager to start construction on their new homes."

Tangi smiled. "That's wonderful!"

Sarel grunted and shrugged. "Small wonder the _shemlen_ treated us fairly for once."

"They still remember the aid we gave in the Blight," Varathorn said. "They remember that their Hero is Dalish." He gave an approving smile to Tangi.

"They'll forget," Sarel insisted brusquely.

Tangerine cleared her throat. "Anyway, it's wonderful that more people will have homes soon. Keeper Lanaya will make sure the materials are divided fairly." She looked around. "Have the traders come with any interesting news?"

Varathorn paused for a moment, thinking. "Nothing that affects us, I think. Though, there is news about the _shemlen_ queen."

Alistair's breath caught in his chest.

Tangi's hand tightened around his, this time not in comfort. "Anora," she muttered, her face twisting in anger.

Varathorn nodded. "Yes. Apparently she's given birth."

Alistair's blood ran cold, freezing him from the inside. His mind seemed frozen as well, for he could think of nothing but the last two words. _Given birth, given birth, given birth_ …

Tangerine's eyes went wide. "Really? How long ago?"

"Three, maybe four weeks ago?"

She pursed her lips. "Now that you mention it, I do remember hearing the queen was pregnant when I was in Denerim. Maybe that's why she hasn't sent anyone after us. I can't imagine it would have been hard for her to guess who took you, Alistair." She glanced up at Alistair. Her eyes wrinkled in concern. " _Emma lath_ , are you feeling okay? Your hands are trembling."

Alistair nodded, though he felt lightheaded and sick to his stomach. _Given birth, given birth, given birth_ … "What… what was it?" he asked Varathorn in a low murmur.

The master armorer blinked in surprise, as if only now remembering that Alistair was there. "What was what?"

"The… the ch-child. What was it?"

"A girl, I think," Varathorn replied. He looked over at Sarel for confirmation, and Sarel nodded. "Yes, a girl. I don't remember the name."

_A girl!_ Alistair could feel his heart thumping in his throat. _A daughter!_

"Poor child," Tangi sighed. "With that wretch of a woman as a mother…"

Sarel snorted. "Forget that. What kind of man would bed that frigid bitch?"

_Someone like me_ , Alistair answered silently. Visions of that room with the canopied bed and the curtained windows flickered in his vision like flames.

" _I no longer require your services…" Anora pressed a hand to her belly and gave him a triumphant smile. "I am with child."_

Alistair's hand left Tangerine's, his feet carrying him away before he even realized he was moving. He heard her call after him, but he could not stop running. He ran back across the bridge, past stalls and cottages and _aravel_. His legs ached with the sudden effort, but still he ran. Ostagar span around him. It was an effort to keep upright.

When he reached the camp, he collapsed into their bedding within the tent, his breath coming in erratic gasps and hiccups. He sucked in long swallows of air, feeling as if he were drowning. The tent danced in circles around him, faster and faster, until he had to stumble out of the tent to wretch into the grass. He wiped at his mouth and gulped a few rasping breaths before falling back into the tent in a shuddering heap.

Pounding footsteps came down the hill. "Alistair! Alistair!"

The tent flaps flew open. Tangerine was at his side at once. "Alistair! Oh, gods, are you all right?" Not waiting for an answer, she pulled his shaking body into her lap. "I'm here now. Breathe… just breathe…"

Alistair concentrated on her face, willing it to stay in one place. He mimicked her breathing, taking one deep, shaky breath after another. It took several long minutes, but his breath finally began to calm. The tent slowed until it remained still.

He sat up, still trembling. Tangi reached for a skin of water and held it out to him. He took it and gulped down the liquid in long draws.

"May the Dread Wolf take me," Tangerine sighed as he drank. "I am such an idiot. I'm so sorry, _emma lath_. I should have realized."

Alistair lowered the skin. He could not meet her eyes. "You know." He could not hide himself from her anymore. She would see him for what he was now – wretched and weak.

"I… guessed what they had done to you," she said. "I didn't know the details, obviously. I didn't know who." A flash of hatred passed over her eyes. "I should have."

He shrugged, feeling numb and empty. "It doesn't matter."

"What do you mean? Of course it matters!"

He shook his head. "Not anymore. She won." He stared at his hands, at the faded calluses around his wrists. "She got what she wanted from me."

Tangi frowned. "A child?"

He shook his head again. "An heir," he corrected in a hollow voice. "A royal heir."

She gave a soft gasp, one hand covering her mouth. "That's why she took you?"

"Yes. My blood is the only thing I have of any value, apparently." His voice was heavy with bitterness he couldn't feel.

"Don't say that." She reached a tentative hand to touch both of his. "Do you… want to talk about it?"

He stared at their hands. "I don't know. You might as well know now, I suppose." He took a deep breath. "But I don't know what there is to tell. I had sex with her. She had my child. That's it."

"No," Tangi insisted. She bent, placing herself beside their hands so she could look up into his eyes. "Alistair, you did _not_ have sex with her. She _raped_ you."

Hearing the word aloud made him flinch. "Maybe at first," he murmured. "But not by the end. I wanted it."

She shook her head. "No, no, you didn't."

"You weren't there…"

"You didn't…"

"I _begged_ for it, Tangerine!" he shouted, snatching his hands away from her. Where, moments earlier, there had been emptiness, there was now a raging anger. He wasn't sure who he was angry at. "I begged and pleaded and wept for it! So don't tell me I didn't want it!"

" _Emma lath_ …" She reached again for him.

He back away. "Stop calling me that! I don't deserve to be your love anymore!" His voice cracked at the last sentence, but he pressed onward. The words fell from his mouth in a flood. "I _wanted_ her. And she wasn't the only one. There were guards. They used me over and over and over. And I wanted it from them too. Maker, it had been so long since I'd felt anything, and I _begged_ for it from them! What does that make me?"

Alistair stopped for a moment, his breath heavy from shouting. He realized she wasn't saying anything and truly looked at her for the first time since she came into the tent.

Her eyes were red as she wept openly with her hands covering her mouth, her shoulders shaking. Her gaze never wavered from him, and even through her stream of tears, he could see her love shining back at him.

"Stop looking at me like that," he said brokenly, his anger fading just as quickly as it came. "How can you love me like you do when I hate myself so much? I can barely stand to look at myself in the mirror!" As much as it hurt to see Tangerine sobbing, Alistair could no longer look away. "I wasn't even a person when you found me, Tangi. I wasn't even human. I let them use me like a cow, let them milk anything of value out of me until there was nothing left. I'm disgusting! What is there left to love?"

Alistair wasn't sure whether he wanted an answer, but he waited for one nonetheless. It was several moments before she could say anything.

"Everything," she replied, her voice scratched and raw. "Oh, _emma lath_ , _emma vhenan_ , you are so much stronger than you realize. To have lived through that and more, and to be here, not two months later, having come so far…" She breathed a shuddering hiccup. "Oh, Alistair, I love you all the more."

He shook his head fiercely, unable to speak.

"She gave you no choice but to want it, Alistair," she said gently through her shuddering breath. "Locked away as you were when I found you? Alone as you were? What choice did you have? Would you have chosen to have any of those things done to you if you were free? Would you have wanted it then?"

"No," he whispered. "Of course not."

"Then you didn't actually want it."

Deep down, he knew it was true. Yet somehow, knowing it did not make it _feel_ true. "Then why do I still hate myself? Why do I still feel so filthy?"

She crept towards him and took his hands in hers once more. "That's _their_ filth you feel, _emma lath_.They wounded you with it. They made your soul sick from it." Her hands tightened around his. "It's not your fault."

Something broke inside of him at her final words. He crumpled in on himself, curling until his head touched the carpeted floor. He gave a soft sob, unable to stem the flow of tears that bubbled up and overcame him. Tangi wrapped her arms around him, leaning her head against his back. They wept together, openly, loudly, until the sky turned orange and purple, and their eyes ran dry.


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This will probably be the last update until December, due to NaNoWriMo. Thank you so much for sticking with me and this story so far!

The sound of a baby crying chased Alistair into his sleep that night. The crying inserted itself into his usual nightmares, always in the distance. In the room with the canopied bed, in the chamber with the bloodied table, in his cell with the two buckets. He felt the child calling for him, in a shrill, wordless plea. He wanted to go to her, to find her and hold her, to coo sweet sounds to placate her. But he was chained or bolted or locked away, and could not hope to reach her. And then his hands were free and his cell unlocked. He ran to find her. Though he wanted to call her name, he could not. He didn't know it. He could not even look for her because he didn't know what she looked like.

Alistair woke in the early hours of the morning, silent and still as usual. He looked over at Tangi, who slept peacefully beside him. Usually, he let her sleep, determined not to disturb her. Today was different.

He slid closer to her, curling his body around hers. He kissed her shoulder, and she gave a groggy hum as she stirred.

"Tangi? Sorry to wake you."

She opened her eyes, heavy-lidded with the dregs of slumber. " _Emma lath_?" she croaked. "Is something the matter?"

His arms tightened around her. "I… I had a bad dream."

Tangi looked over her shoulder at him, wide awake now. "Are you okay? Do you want to talk about it?"

He shook his head. "Not now. I just… Can you just hold me for a while?"

She nodded, giving him a small, comforting smile. She turned around, slipping her arm under his neck. He sighed as he rested his head on her shoulder. Wrapping her arms around him, she kissed the top of his head several times before resting her cheek against his hair. As they wove their legs together, Alistair felt so close to Tangi, as if their bodies were one.

Warm and secure, he soon fell back into a dreamless sleep.

o.O.o

When Alistair stirred later that morning, his eyes still lingering in slumber, he could feel someone watching him. He tensed, the sensation at first making him uneasy. But as he remembered where he was and felt the gentle warmth of slender arms around him, he relaxed. His eyes opened, and he looked up to blue-green eyes gazing back at him.

"Good morning," Tangi greeted.

"Morning," Alistair replied, his voice fuzzy.

She kissed his forehead. "This is the first time I've woken up before you." The corners of her eyes wrinkled. "Have you been having nightmares like that often?"

"Yes," he admitted. "Every night. I know I should have told you about them, but… I don't know… I couldn't. I didn't want to disturb you. I… didn't really feel I had a right to."

She smoothed a few stray hairs off of his brow with her fingers. "Well, I'm glad you woke me last night. You can come to me anytime, _emma lath_. I don't mind."

"I know."

Tangi studied his face for a moment, as if trying to make a decision. "I want to do something today, while it's still early. I've been meaning to do it for a long time now, and it feels like the right time to do it. Would you come with me? It would be a long walk for you – we'd have to cross the bridge – and we'd have to walk through the town, obviously. But I really want you there with me."

Alistair doubted he could truly deny her anything. "Of course I will."

She smiled, but her brow creased over her swirling _vallaslin_ tattoo. He thought she looked apprehensive. "Thank you. It means a lot to me." She pressed a quick kiss into his hair. "I should get breakfast ready. We'll bring it with us to eat while we walk. If we leave early, we should be able to avoid running into too many people along our way."

As Tangi got to her feet and began to dress, Alistair sat up and watched her, wondering where they might be going. He rubbed his eyes, trying to chase away his grogginess, and got dressed as well.

Half an hour later, they left camp, carrying rolls of bread that had been pulled open and stuffed with meat and cheese. Alistair eyed the satchel Tangi carried with her with curiosity. Two long wooden handles poked out the top, and the sharp clatter of metal on metal sounded from within.

"Where are we going?" he asked around a mouthful of meat and cheese.

She looked up at him. "Someplace familiar."

With linked hands, they walked in relative silence through the Dalish village. The thoroughfare felt almost empty in comparison to the previous day's throng of people. A few elves pushing wheelbarrows of bricks and stone called greetings to Tangerine, and she replied back in Elvish.

By the time they reached the far end of the bridge, Alistair's legs felt rubbery with fatigue. They ached from his running the day before, still unused to such activity. His steps flagged as they turned the corner around the columns.

"It's only a bit farther," Tangi promised. "We'll rest once we get there."

Walking into this part of Ostagar brought back memories for Alistair. As they passed the entrance to an alcove to the right, he half-expected to see mages casting swirls of magic to enter the Fade. Instead, an _aravel_ stood close to the far wall, and two of the Dalish sat around a fire pit, making breakfast.

They turned again, heading uphill. Distracted as he was by the ache in his legs, they had walked several yards before he realized where they were. "This is where…" he murmured when they reached the top.

"Yes," Tangi whispered. "This is where we met."

The ruined platform was much as Alistair remembered. Tall trees grew close to the crumbled walls, providing shade when the ceiling had long since been torn away. Columns leaned and grass grew where once there had been stone floors. A long table stood nearby, where Duncan had placed the Chalice at Tangerine's Joining. Alistair's heart ached as he remembered; it had been one of the last times he had seen Duncan alive.

There was only one difference now. A small evergreen tree stood in the middle of the open room, growing from a square patch of earth that used to be covered with flagstones. Worn cobblestones were laid in the earth, circling around the tree in an intricate pattern.

"You are a very strange human," Tangi said, a hint of laughter in her voice.

Alistair looked down at her and smiled, remembering. "Those were the first words you'd ever said to me."

The smile on her own face widened, and tears gathered in her eyes. She stared at him in a moment of stunned silence, as if trying to memorize his face.

His brow furrowed as he spotted her tears. "What's wrong?"

She shook her head, reaching up to touch her fingertips to his lips. "Nothing. I just… I wasn't sure I'd ever see you smile again." She threw her arms around his neck and kissed him soundly. "You don't know how happy that makes me."

He felt the corners of his mouth tug again. "I'll try to smile as often as I can, if only to make you happy."

Tangi gave him another kiss, lingering a little this time, before shaking her head again. "Don't force yourself, _emma lath_. Smiling is better when you feel the smile too."

He nodded. "Only the genuine article for you, love," he promised.

She got down from her tiptoes and took his hand again. Her face turned solemn. "Come. Let me show you something."

Tangerine pulled him by the hand several paces until they reached the small evergreen. As they drew close, Alistair could smell the fresh scent of the tree's leaves, reminding him of cold weather or perhaps, strangely, of pineapples. Shoots of green sprouted from its branches, and its bark was covered with overlapping shades of brown and red and gray. The branches grew in an almost haphazard conical shape, giving Alistair the impression that this was a very young tree.

Tangi was stiff as she pointed toward the base of the tree. Alistair followed the line of her finger. There was a metal plate attached with rivets to a stone. The plate was engraved with words:

FOR ALISTAIR THEIRIN  
9:31 Dragon  
 _Vir samahl la numin_  
 _Vir lath sa'vunin_

Alistair stared at the plaque with his mouth open. It was several moments before he could speak. "This is my grave?" he asked in a hushed voice.

She nodded and ran her hand along one of the branches in an affectionate motion. "It's a red-cedar. It is said that this tree can live over a thousand years. My people call it the _uth'adahl_ , the eternal tree. I hear Tevinter calls it _arborvitae_ , the tree of life."

Her voice sounded distant, hollow of the vibrancy he was used to hearing. He wanted to reach for her, but she was still tense, her eyes cast down towards the plaque. She looked like she didn't want to be touched.

"I thought for a long time about what tree I wanted to plant here. Maple trees reminded me of you… You loved that syrup the Drydens made for us at Soldier's Peak. Yet even though it would have been lovely in the autumn, I didn't think I could bear to watch it die every year."

"Tangi…"

"I remembered this tree," she pressed on, "from a story _Hahren_ Paivel used to tell me and Tamlen when we were children. A tree that lived as long as the immortal elves. I traded with another Dalish clan for the sapling." She bent to smell the leaves. "They're well-valued amongst my people, even though it's a common enough tree. The elf who sold it to me was reluctant to part with it. But once I thought of it, I had to use this tree. I needed something that was everlasting."

"Tangerine…" This time, Alistair did reach for her. He pulled her to his chest, holding her there until the stiffness eased from her muscles and she relaxed into his embrace.

"Can you ever forgive me?" her distant-sounding voice said, muffled against his chest.

"Forgive you?" Alistair repeated, taken aback. He looked down at her, but her face was hidden under wisps of hair and a bowed head. "For what?"

"For not coming for you sooner."

He pulled away from her so he could see her face. When his eyes found hers, he saw they were pinched, filled with deep sadness. "You didn't know I was alive. How could you? I never expected anyone to come for me."

She shook her head. "I knew something was wrong. I should have acted on that instinct. I'm so sorry, _emma lath_."

Alistair floundered, not knowing what to say. He was so used to Tangi comforting him, to relying on her as a stone of stability, that he had no idea what to do now that she needed him. "But… there's nothing to forgive, Tangi! And… and even if there was, you'd be forgiven completely! But there's not! …Anything to be sorry for, I mean." Feeling that the words were ineffectual, he hugged her again. He stroked her back and kissed her hair that smelled like rain. "Maker, I don't know what to say," he murmured, laying his head on top of hers. "I'm just so grateful you came at all. I… I was so sure I would never be free again."

He held her, still stroking her back, as the sun crept higher in the sky. Finally, he bent and kissed her lips, trying to pour all his feeling for her into it. He wanted to heal her soul, just as she had worked so hard to even begin to heal his. It would take time, he knew. But she had to know, he had to make certain she knew, that if none of this was his fault, it couldn't possibly be hers either.

When the kiss broke, Tangi looked up at him with a tenuous smile. "Thank you."

Wanting to change the subject, he pointed at the metal plate with his name on it. "What do those words in Elvish mean?"

"It's from a Dalish song, _In Uthenera_ ," she explained. "Leliana sang it for us once at camp, but my people usually sing it at funerals. _Vir samahl la numin_ , we laugh and cry. _Vir lath sa'vunin_ , we love one more day." She paused, cocking her head to one side as she considered the words. "It seems oddly more appropriate now."

"It does," Alistair agreed. "I like that."

Tangi looked up at the sky to check the time. "We should get started." She bent to pick up the satchel at her feet. She flipped the flap open and grabbed the wooden handles, producing two trowels.

Alistair frowned, looking from the trowels to the tree. "We're going to dig it up?" he asked, incredulous.

"No," she said, lowering to her knees. "We're going to dig under it. I want the thing I buried beneath it."

She handed him one of the trowels, and they began digging. Removing the cobblestones first, they dug a ways out from the base of the tree in hopes of going around then under the roots. Even still, they were careful and gentle with the trowels as they dug deeper into the ground. It was difficult work; Alistair had to stop several times to rest. Tangerine kept at it, working with an almost rhythmic diligence, until the sun was high in the sky, and they stopped for lunch.

Tangerine produced more of the stuffed rolls from her satchel, as well as four orange fruits for them to split between them. Alistair gave a small smile as he held the ball of fruit in his hand. "Tangerines…" he said, peeling the thin skin.

She looked at him and, despite her previous sadness, beamed back. "I thought you might like them."

When they had finished eating, they immediately began digging again. The roots of the tree had spread far. Tangi was careful not to cut them unless there was no other way to get around them. As they got closer to where she said she had placed the object, the work began to get tedious, as little roots scattered the dirt there. Yet, at last, when the sky had begun to turn orange, Alistair's trowel made a ringing noise as it hit something hard and smooth.

Tangi gestured for him to move aside. It took several minutes, but she managed to wedge the object out of the ground. It was a small wooden box, sealed around the middle with red wax. As she pulled it from the earth, she breathed a sigh of relief.

"What is it?" Alistair asked, finally giving in to his curiosity.

She took out a small knife from her belt and broke the wax seal. "Here," she said, offering the box to him. "Open and see."

Alistair was suddenly struck with a strange chill as he realized that this was what she buried in his place. That they had essentially just robbed his own grave. He ran a finger around the middle of the box where the wax had been. Tangi had taken such care to preserve the contents. After a moment's hesitation, he opened the box.

A single red rose lay inside, atop a white silk handkerchief.

Alistair's breath hitched in his chest. He picked up the delicate flower with reverence, turning it in his fingers. "It's still alive…" he said in a hushed voice.

"It really must have magic in it," Tangi said, her voice quiet as well, as if she were speaking half to herself. "I was so afraid that it would wilt and die as time went on. Or, that if you were dead, this flower would be too… that it was you that sustained it somehow."

"Why did you choose to bury this?" Alistair asked her, setting the rose back inside the box. "Why not something else?"

She reached out and touched the box, still in his hands. "I didn't have much left when they took you. When I thought you had died. A shield you weren't using at the time, swords too. A shirt, trousers, socks, old boots… Nothing personal. Nothing that felt like it had your… your essence in it." She took the box from him and picked up the flower. "There was just this rose. I didn't want to part with it, but if I couldn't have your real remains to bury, this felt like the closest thing to it."

In a moment of clarity, Alistair realized that she hadn't put the rose in just a box. It was a coffin. She had laid the only physical symbol of their love onto a bed of silk, and buried it within a maple coffin. It wasn't that she buried it in his place. She laid it to rest, as if it were him.

He took the box back from her, closing the rose inside. "Tangerine…" Gathering her into his arms, he wondered, not for the first time, what she possibly saw in him that made him worthy of such devotion. He had no words for this, could not ever have enough words for this. "Thank you…"

"I've been so afraid since I've gotten you back," she admitted in a fierce whisper. "Just so afraid that I'd wake up, and find that it was all a dream. That you really had died, and I just made it all up because I missed you so."

Alistair clutched at her and kissed her hair, because he knew exactly what that felt like. It was both comforting and terrifying that she could feel the same way.

She looked up at him and gave him a sad, thin smile. "But I have this back now. And I can look at it, and know that this tree isn't your grave anymore. So you can't be dead."

Alistair glanced at the tree. "What is it now?"

There was a pause before she answered. "Still a remembrance, I think. Of the suffering that made this tree necessary. Not death… Rebirth, perhaps. Maybe it's like the song says… that we will laugh and cry and love one more day."

He bent to kiss her lips. "More than one, I hope."

She nodded. "More than one," she agreed.

They spent the next hour caring for the tree, covering the roots with the soil they unearthed. Tangerine fetched a bucket from the well in the village below and watered the tree, then replaced the cobblestones. The sky was beginning to darken by the time they finished. Tangi fussed with the plaque one last time before Alistair took her hand to lead her away.

By the time they crossed the bridge to their side of Ostagar, Alistair was exhausted. Yet he had come to a decision during the long walk, and was determined to get it underway before he could talk himself out of it. When they reached Lanaya's house, he lingered, pulling his hand from Tangi's.

"You go on ahead," he told her. "I'll be down for supper in a bit."

Tangi had a curious look on her face, but nodded, heading down the hill to their camp.

Alistair took a deep breath and knocked on the door.

Lanaya opened the door and smiled when she saw who it was. "Alistair, how are you?"

"Good, thank you," he replied, wringing his hands. "I… I was wondering…"

"Oh, what can I help you with?"

He took another calming breath. "You said if I wanted to talk, I could come to you. I… I think I can do that now. Talk."

Her face betrayed her surprise for only a moment, her eyes widening briefly before softening in gentle understanding. "Of course. You think you're ready now?"

Alistair shrugged. "To be honest, I don't know. I'm not sure that it's something that I could ever be ready for. But…" He glanced at the path down the hill. "She believes in me, even when I don't believe in myself. Especially so. She cares for me _so much_. More than anyone has in my entire life. And I don't know why." He thought about the tree, the rose, the little wooden box. About how they had met, and about how they had parted, her eyes shining with love and terror. "I think I understood once, and I want to feel that way again. I don't feel worthy of her, Keeper. But now, I think I want to do what I can, to _make_ myself worthy of her again. To see myself as she sees me, and to know without a doubt that her faith and love and devotion can be returned in full."

Lanaya smiled again. "It sounds like an excellent start. Tomorrow morning, then?"

Alistair nodded. "Yes, tomorrow."

He gave a little wave of goodbye as he headed down the hill. Despite his fatigue, his steps felt purposeful. For the first time, he felt like he was finally moving forward.


End file.
